


Space Squad Episode I: New Beginnings

by KatieAlex



Series: The Adventures of Space Squad [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rise of Empire Era - All Media Types
Genre: Bounty Hunters, Friendship, Gen, Gray Jedi, Jedi, Minor Violence, Planet Naboo (Star Wars), Sith, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-16
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-15 15:21:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 58,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13033977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatieAlex/pseuds/KatieAlex
Summary: Four strangers from across the galaxy are thrown together on Naboo, and must learn to work together to overcome obstacles and escape from danger. The story takes place some years before the blockade of Naboo in the Phantom Menace.





	1. Chapter 1

_PROLOGUE_

 

Ignae Fortikk strolled towards her ship, a light breeze twisting soft, burnished curls of hair around her face. A voice drifted up from behind her.

“Where will you go from here? What goal do you seek?”

She gave a strained smile as she shoved her last few provisions behind the cockpit, finally relaxing after forcing the last of it away and grappling the seat back into an upright position. Turning towards the voice, ”I’m a traveller,” she replied with a grin, twisting the waves of her hair back into a heavy knot. “I’ll go where the Force takes me.”

The voice chuckled. “We are well aware, my child, as it was your adventurous spirit that brought you to us in the first place. But where will you begin?”

The young woman thought a moment, hesitating as she lingered at the top of a ladder leading into the ship’s open cockpit. “I want to keep studying,” she said finally. “I’m going to search out other planets with strange cores, starting with Naboo. I can learn about their cultures and trade there, too.”

“Very well,” replied the voice. “Then go, and may the Force be with you.”

 

* * *

 

At that same moment, Jesa Kelrune jolted awake in the urban darkness of Coruscant. Shivering, she turned on the tiny overhead light and wrapped her robe around her shoulders. However, it did little to ease the cold sense of foreboding that had come over her. She reached over and grabbed her holocron projector to replay the old message again. A small figure appeared in her hand.

“-- and the Council thinks it’s nothing. ‘A period of peace,’ they say. But I know that something feels wrong, you should feel it too. Please, won’t you go see what you can find?” pleaded the hologram.

The young woman sighed and pulled the robe tighter around her. She had agreed with the Council’s opinion at first, although she couldn’t explain why she had begun saving credits for travel anyways. But now her dream had shaken her, and she was glad that she had--she couldn’t put it off any longer. Deciding that sleep was no longer an option, she slid out from beneath her blankets and reached for her bag. She’d leave for Naboo at first light.

 

* * *

 

Across the city, perhaps unsurprisingly, another was still awake on the planet that never slept. Zita Enz left her shop and wandered the familiar route towards the shuttle station, lost in her thoughts. It had been a long day, and she was exhausted; but business had been good-- she almost couldn’t believe she’d finally rid herself of those transmitters from Garel, the market for ship parts had never never so scarce. She finally reached the station, empty due to the late hour, and noted that she had a few minutes until the next shuttle came. As she sat down on a low bench to wait, one thought kept nagging at her from between inventory counts and shipment receipts.

“What if it’s true?” she muttered. “That kind of knowledge… it could change the galaxy. The price someone could get for it...” She shook her head. This kind of dealing sounded too shady for her. Too risky. Too dangerous. But even as she boarded the arriving shuttle, the temptation to know more refused fade.

“Besides,” the Zita thought as the shuttle hummed to life, its warm lights so removed from the uncertainty in her mind. “I’m scheduled to leave soon anyways, and I already have contacts on Naboo. I can check on them, just see what I hear in the meantime.” No digging or searching so as to drag her into something she had no desire to be a part of. It would all be preliminary. Light. So resolved, when the shuttle arrived at her stop, she disembarked into the chill night air, went home and started packing to chase her rumor.

 

* * *

 

As for rumors, few could care less about them Xela Vegas, who sat outside a classroom in the main spire, now glittering in the brilliant light of day. She wasn’t sure how to describe what she was feeling. Nervousness? Anticipation? It wasn’t like this would be a life-changing decision. Just one last jaunt before she took the Trials. She knew that it was a little unorthodox, but it felt important to her, and wouldn’t change her course in the slightest. Of course. So then there was nothing to worry about. She started when she heard the door open behind her.

She turned to see Master Ki-Adi-Mundi smiling in the doorway. “Congratulations,” he said. “The Council had approved your request to travel.”

The young woman smiled in relief, stood, and bowed. “Thank you, Master,” she responded. “I’m very much looking forward to this opportunity.”

Master Ki-Adi-Mundi chuckled at her formality. “It’s okay to be excited, you know. The Code doesn’t forbid emotions, only giving into them. So, where did you decide to go?”

“Naboo,” the woman replied. “ I don’t have any attachment to the planet, but it was home once. I’d love to learn a bit about the culture before I take the Trials, so I’m going during the Festival of Light. You know, to rejuvenate, study, expand my mind.”

“Of course,” said Master Ki-Adi-Mundi, laying a familiar hand on her shoulder. “May the Force be with you on your journey.”

 

* * *

 

Meanwhile, the rumors themselves had reached the Outer Rim, too, even the distant, rocky crescent of a dying mining colony, barely sustained by its one remaining bar. In the dingy tavern, the bounty hunter smirked as he slammed down an empty tankard. “I’ll find her,” he boasted. “She’s gonna make me rich.”

He dropped some credits on the bar with a clatter, and went to find his ship. He climbed in the cockpit and smirked again at the thought of such easy money. “Off to Naboo.”

 

* * *

 

 

_EPISODE 1_

 

Xela was trying not to look like a tourist when she stepped off of her shuttle into Perget Station. But nobody had the heart to tell her that the tchotchke sellers around every pillar were already eyeing her as she turned in circles every few steps she took, craning her neck to look up at the domed ceiling of the station. Far above her, a glittering mosaic featuring the first meeting of the Gungans and the Naboo stretched across the length of the hanger. A round skylight shone through the tiles at the point where a heavily robed Gungan reached to clasp hands with a pale young woman, dressed elaborately in a bright green dress. Her hair had been painstakingly sculpted into a large tube around the back of her head with bronze tiles, and braids tumbled down her back in heavy ropes. Xela absently twisted her own chestnut braid around her fingers, thinking fleetingly of the approaching day when it would be chopped off. Remembering herself, she tossed her braid back with the rest of her hair, looked away from the mosaic, and began to follow the flow of people towards the exit.

The crowd funneled into three narrow archways out of the Arrivals hanger, and into a large rotunda of bustling porters and rippling languages. The smell of salamander sticks and exhaust hugged the walls as Xela wove haltingly towards the city, and her ears rang with the calls of hawkers. A small Jawa skittered up to her, the grungy hem of his robes trailing beneath his feet, and spread his arms to display rotating holograms of Naboo’s palace dangling from his sleeves.

“Two credits miss, two credits,” he said in Basic, his voice high and clipped, “Good price for a young Jedi.”

Xela smiled, and said, “No, but thank you. Though maybe you could help me wi--” but he was already gone, disappearing into the crowd as quickly as he had come. “Oh,” Xela said, startled. She scanned the crowd to see where the Jawa had disappeared to without tripping over herself, muttering, “Well, that’s fine then.” She smoothed down the front of her cerulean tunic and continued on, trying not to feel stung. The sun suddenly broke over her, and the padawan found herself at the head of a large plaza.

Perget Station yawned behind her, and stone pillars swept around the edge of the open space, guarding store fronts and small restaurants already busy with the midday rush. Directly across from the station, water fell in arcs from a tapering fountain at the center of the plaza, cascading down the sides of an obelisk before spilling over the lip of large white basin into a narrow gutter. Beyond it, the pillars opened up into blue sky. Xela rushed enthusiastically between them to the outlook beyond, leaning heavily on a smooth balustrade. The city spread out below her in a swath of rounded teal roofs, like pebbles at the bottom of a riverbed. She could even see the towering Theed Palace, not far from where she stood, built into a rolling cliff at the eastern end of the city and parallel to the ledge on which the station perched. A delighted laugh carried through the air beside her.

“It’s amazing, isn’t it?” Xela turned to find a young woman at her side, a breeze tripping over the wall to catch in her thick red hair. “They say that it’s been standing for around eight hundred years.”

Still overwhelmed at the grandeur of the capital city, and taken aback by such a friendly stranger, Xela didn’t know how to respond. “Yeah, I mean, it’s really…great?” she trailed off weakly.

The girl grinned warmly, taking pity on her. “First time visiting Theed?” she asked, nodding in the direction of the monumental structure. “I had the same look the first time I saw the Royal Palace a few days ago.”

“You just got here too?” Xela asked, surprised. The stranger seemed so knowledgeable and at ease. “Technically I was born here, but I remember very little of it. You already seem really comfortable, almost like a native yourself!”

The woman laughed and leaned against the balustrade, the flaps of her maroon jacket swinging open to reveal a bright green shirt and a silver chain dangling from her neck. “Well, thanks! I’ve always felt like I could adapt to new places pretty quick. Gotta just step back and soak it in, you know?” she said, gazing fondly at the swarms of people populating the plaza. “I’m Ignae, by the way,” she chirped, extending an open palm.

“Do you usually make your introductions like this?” Xela asked, bemused. On Coruscant, no one was ever so quick to start a conversation, unless they wanted to convert you to any one of the millions of faiths bobbing among the planet’s people, or pickpocket you. Then she remembered that she was being rude. “Oh, oh yeah!” Xela rushed to take the proffered hand. “I’m Xela. Nice to meet you.”

“You too!” Ignae said breezily, ignoring Xela’s slip. “So, what brings a Jedi Padawan like you to Naboo?” she asked, glancing at the lightsaber hanging from Xela’s belt.

Xela smiled and stood a little taller. “I’m actually only going to be a Padawan for a few weeks longer. I’m just here for the Festival of Lights before I take my Trials.”

Ignae’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “That’s amazing-- but hey, what a coincidence!” She leaned in conspiratorially, “Technically, I’m here to study irregularities in Naboo’s core-- but I just had to make sure that I got here in time for the Festival, too. I heard that it’s one of the most spectacular celebrations in the Mid Rim,” she finished with a burst of enthusiasm..

Xela nodded, her oval face animated as she bounced up and down on her toes, sharing in the redhead’s excitement. “I’ve heard that too!” Then her voice took on a bashful note, and her movement slowed. “Hey, you wouldn’t happen to know where the fireworks are going to be, would you? I don’t have any real memories of Theed, and it’s a whole different creature than Coruscant,” she said, with a doubtful glance toward the crowded maze of streets winding through the capital.

Another swift smile flitted across Ignae’s face. “The fireworks are going to be outside the palace. I’m headed that direction now, you should come with.”

“Really? You wouldn’t mind--?” Xela asked, unsure. At Ignae’s laugh and assurance to the contrary, Xela brightened. “That would be great, thank you!” she replied.

“Well alright then.” Ignae pushed herself up off the bannister and gestured towards the stairs that extended from either side of the overlook. “After you.” Xela hurried forward, and together they made their way down the steps. They paused for a moment to admire more of the view, letting a woman in a white jacket and two elaborately dressed Twi’leks go past. Then, skipping the last couple steps, the two left the staircase behind and disappeared into the labyrinth of Theed.


	2. Good First Impressions

Xela and Ignae wound through Theed at a meandering pace, passing vendors and small cafes tucked into narrow side streets. They strolled by tiny, furred Kushiban and gnarled, ribbed Neti sipping steaming cups of gav, heated games of dejarik on street corners, and buskers playing instruments with so many strings that no human hand could hope to mimic them. Then they traipsed through innumerable small courtyards full of tiny gardens, where couples and small families lounged on stone benches and street performers juggled faux lightsabers the size of pocket knives. At one point the pair stumbled upon a glass-covered pavilion full of stalls piled high with sparkling beads, and afterwards Xela insisted that they stop for gelato the same blue as the afternoon sky.

As the sun began to sink and the spires of the city turned to shadow, Ignae guided them over a small bridge and past an open cliff face on their way to the palace. As they approached the landmark, the crowds thickened until the two women could hardly see between the crush of bodies. In spite of this, they still managed to wriggle into spots along the edge of the square just outside the palace. They stood at the foot of a long, outdoor corridor, leaning against the last pillar as the sky darkened. Creatures of every size and color swarmed across the plaza, some carrying younglings on their shoulders while older children clambered up the sides of lampposts to get a better view of the upcoming show. It was almost as energizing as the fireworks itself, as friendly anticipation breathed from the crowd like a sparkling fog. Xela had been to many large cities before, but she couldn’t remember the last time she had felt so excited as she stood by Ignae’s side.

Finally, as the first few stars began to twinkle on the horizon, booming music began to pour from the doors of Theed Palace, and then the sky exploded into a riot of color. Bursts of orange and red bloomed above the square with ear-popping cracks, and silver jets whistled up into the sky, leaving smooth trails of blue dust in their wake. Xela and Ignae applauded with the rumble of the crowd as white orbs were released into the sky, each shimmering with images from around the planet, as the insignia of Naboo materialized between them. There was another crack, and then glittering golden script began to scroll across the sky in two columns, one in Aurebesh and one in Naboo, detailing the planet’s history.

As the first round of words began to dissolve, Xela  thought she heard a high pitched cry, so faint beneath the fireworks and thousands of voices that she almost missed it. But sure enough, she heard the shrill cry again, like a pinprick against her ears. She glanced at Ignae, who was also peering into the crowd. Now angry voices seemed to be growing louder, pitching out of synch with the ‘oohs’ and the ‘aahs’ of those watching the fireworks. Xela wavered for a moment, not wanting to leave her newfound friend-- but she already knew that she was going to go investigate; she’d known it as soon as she’d heard a raised voice. Sighing, Xela tugged at Ignae’s sleeve, and when the redhead looked towards her, she leaned close to her ear.

“There’s something going on,” she said, trying not to yell during the quiet between explosions. “I’m going to go check it out.” Ignae leaned close to listen, and then nodded. Her expression was neutral, and Xela tried not to be disappointed as she turned to duck into the crowd, leaving Ignae to enjoy the rest of the show. Then a surprisingly strong hand snatched her shoulder, and she could just make out Ignae’s voice as a hail of violet dissolved into gold above them.

“I’m right behind you-- let’s go!” Xela glanced back to see Ignae eagerly slip past her. Noticing that Xela hadn’t followed, she looked over her shoulder and beckoned towards the padawan, her fine-boned face impish in the dark. Smiling as warmth seeped into her chest, Xela jumped after her.

Pushing and shoving between the onlookers, it took the pair some time to decide from where the the hubbub was coming. But they soon picked their way to the edge of the crowd, following their ears to its source. Once there, they could hear jagged, raised voices coming from around a corner, away from the plaza. They hurried along the pavement, kicking up scraps of paper confetti from earlier that day, and as the two rounded a large column, they saw a familiar-looking white jacket standing at the side of the road among a knot of people. Breaking into a jog, they pushed through the ring gathering around the scene, and Xela and Ignae found a broad man in a weathered black chestplate standing with his back to them. Facing him stood two young women. One had her dark hair tied back, accentuating her open face, full lips, and streak of purple hair that looped around her ponytail. She wore a deep gray overcoat over close-fitting, but comfortable trousers tucked into tall black boots, and held a wary stance just behind the white-jacketed woman, who had a long, elegant braid trailing down her back and a blaster strapped to her side.

Xela and Ignae approached just as the tall woman in front burst into movement, with no warning to speak of. She roundhouse-kicked the man in the face with a smooth, fluid strike that spoke of years of practice and perfectly controlled brutality. He crumpled like a sack of meilooruns, too stunned to even cry out. The front woman looked down on him furiously, her eyes narrow and cutting in contrast with her pert nose. Then she sighed and tucked back some brown strands of hair that had fallen loose across the delicate planes of her face, regaining her composure.

Xela rushed into the circle, throwing herself between the fallen man and his attacker. “Stop!” she cried. “What the frag are you _doing_? Everyone just calm down!”

“I am calm,” the woman replied, unruffled, raising an eyebrow cynically and her hands placatingly. “Although honestly, you have no idea what you just walked into. That man--” her lip curled with disdain-- “Doesn’t deserve your protection.”

The dark-robed woman stepped in. “She’s right. I was standing right there when he came up behind her and tried to drag her away, yelling something about--”

“About how I had information about a magical well,” the first woman finished.

“A well?” chimed in Ignae, a small hitch in her voice.

Ignoring her, the woman continued, her tone biting. “A well. And who are you anyways, barging in like that? You’re not part of the Royal Guard.”

“For your information,” Xela responded, drawing herself up, “I happen to be a member of the Jedi Order, tasked with keeping peace in the galaxy. And that duty includes breaking up fights like this one.”

The fallen man behind her stirred, his movements feeble. The woman’s eyes flickered to him for a moment before darting back to meet Xela’s. “Well then, it seems your job here’s done, isn’t it?” she said archly, stepping around Xela to put her foot on the man’s shoulder. “You, stay down,” she said, pushing him back to the cobblestones. “I’m calling the guard.”

The second woman joined them around the huddled lump of a man as the knot of people around them began to disperse, their interest waning. “And aren’t you still a Padawan anyways?” she asked, her eyes wandering to Xela’s thin braid. “Where’s your Master?”

“Hey, I’m almost ready to take my Trials, I’m just here to visit before I become a fully-fledged Jedi,” Xela said.

“And the first thing you do is step into a fight you don’t have any context for?” said the robed woman. “That’s… unorthodox.”

“Who asked you?” Xela said, feeling defensive.

“I’m sure she didn’t mean it like that Xela,” Ignae said, putting a hand on her arm. “We did come in at an awkward moment, you have to admit,” she continued, looking at the other two women. The woman with the braid gave a conceding, albeit distracted, nod, as her attention was still held by the man on the ground.

That was when Xela noticed that the remaining onlookers were making themselves scarce a bit faster than they had before, scattering back into the safety of the revelers in the square. The group noticed the growing sound of heavy footfalls, and the remaining stragglers from the conflict parted as a small troop of armed men and women shoved between them. They wore the dark, lined jackets and rounded helmets of the Naboo guard, and fanned out around them with suspicious eyes.

“You called already?” said the dark-haired woman in an undertone, looking doubtfully towards the woman in the white jacket. She shook her head as a man with the peaked cap and hood of a captain stepped from their ranks, and wearily looked at the stunned man and group of women standing before him. He was flanked by a gleaming, lithe droid with a flat face and a single camera lense in the center of its face in lieu of eyes. There was a small engraving of the royal insignia on it’s breast, glittering in the light from the fireworks behind them and marking it one of the King’s Eyes, surely recording every move they made.

“Alright ladies,” the Captain sighed, “I have thousands of people in my city tonight, all of whom seem to need my attention. My time and my patience are thin, so-- what seems to be the problem?” Ignae opened her mouth to respond, but she stumbled as the chest-plated man scrambled to his feet and shoved past her, throwing himself to the ground at the officer’s feet.

“Captain, thank goodness you’re here! Those women,” he pointed accusingly, “attacked me right in the middle of the festival!”

The captain of the guard looked dubious as Xela gasped and said “Wait, what? No! Captain--”

“That one kicked me in the face,” the chest-plated man whined, gesturing at his blackening eye, “those two backed her up, and I’m pretty sure that one,” he said, with a vague wave towards the dark-robed woman, “is definitely a member of one of those cults--Krath, the Nightsisters, I dunno-- whatever! Something’s not right about her! Suspicious activity, that’s what’s going on here, officer: suspicious activity!” He punctuated his last words with a wildly pointed finger, slapping into his palm.

Xela gaped at the man, equal parts flabbergasted and furious. Even so, a tiny part of her shivered at the mention of the Krath and the followers of Dathomir-- Not much was known about either, except for their affiliation with dark and strange forces, and the bloody intrigues they had caused on Onderon years ago. This man may be ridiculous, but no one threw around accusations like these lightly. She glanced over her shoulder at the dark-haired woman with wary eyes, trying to feel for the manic obsession that came with being consumed by dark side zealotry. But her face was shuttered and empty, only her eyes slid from the officer, to the chest-plated man, and back again.

The Captain listened to the man’s story with a long-suffering expression.

“Well, regardless of any ‘suspicious activity’,” he cut a look towards the dark-haired woman, “You’re disturbing the peace, and I’m going to need to see all of your identichips. Don’t worry,” he assured them with a weary sigh, “none of you are under arrest at this time-- this is just for posterity.”

One of the guards stepped forward, collecting the small, silvery chips that they produced from wallets and pockets as the man doggedly got to his feet. The droid glided behind the guard like a shadow, pausing in front of each of them as they handed their chips over-- in a tinny voice, it requested that they look at the small light that blinked just above its eye, and no smiling please. Then there was a quiet _snick_ , like the sound of a pair of shears closing on empty air, and then the droid moved on.

After her picture was ruefully taken, Xela watched as the man with the chestplate drew his chip from a tiny pouch at his belt, his expression disgruntled and his forehead shining with sweat as he stared past the droid in front of him. But the guard didn’t notice, and he took the man’s ID without complaint. They waited in silence as he inserted the cards, one by one, into a small machine that gave a high-pitched beep before spitting them back out. They all seemed to go through smoothly, until the machine suddenly made an angry-sounding screech, and then a whirring noise. The guard frowned, examining the offending chip on each side, and then proceeded to wipe it firmly on his uniform before trying it again. But once more, the machine refused, ejecting the errant object back into his palm. Tapping the card with his finger, a hologram of Zita’s attacker’s head and shoulders appeared above the guard’s palm, his face bland and unsmiling.

“You,” the guard said, pointing at the man. “Logan--” he squinted at the name under the hologram, the text blurry in the dark. “Lemhal. Your chip’s not registering.”

“What?” said the man, his face tinged with anxiety. “I just got it renewed, back on Coruscant. Try it again.” But their third effort produced no new results. The captain glanced up at the sky, where the last echoes of the fireworks were just beginning to fade. He looked back at the offenders, and finally said, “We don’t have time for this right now. We’ll deal with them later: take ‘em in.” The last words were directed at his squad, and five guards slung their blasters to the side and unhooked binders from their belts.

“What?!” Xela bristled, her stomach dropping, and started to reach for her lightsaber. But Ignae tugged on her sleeve and shook her head, her face pale. Xela glanced behind her to see the tall woman rolling up her sleeves to expose her wrists, visibly glowering, while the dark-haired woman shifted from foot to foot, tucking something deeper into her jacket.

A female guard approached Xela with her arm extended and a pair of binders in her hand, then said in a clipped voice, “Wrists, please.” Xela started to stretch out her hands as frost began to swirl in her chest, the world seeming to slow down around her. All she could think of was Master Ki-Adi-Mundi, his face looming large and disappointed in her mind. Her heart fell into her stomach, thundering in her ears like a herd of stampeding nerfs, and a high-pitched ringing filled her ears.

She couldn’t remember when exactly she started moving, but before she knew it, she had thrown out her hands and the cuffs were soaring from the woman’s grasp into the street behind them. Then she was running down an adjacent street as Ignae called out behind her.

“Xela! Xela, stop!”

She could vaguely hear the Captain yell, “Oh, for the love of-- After her!” The pounding of many feet was just behind her as Xela turned one corner, then another, shoved through two closed stalls into an adjoining alley, and then burst out into a small garden. Hardly pausing to think, she swerved violently and dodged through a thicket of trees and through an iron gate, back into the streets. In a flash, she saw a small bridge leading out of the buildings and over the edge of one of Naboo’s cliffs, a thin creek tumbling beneath it like a shimmering ribbon. At the end of a bridge was a secluded pavilion, with a low, solid wall between the interior of the building and the empty air above the plains of the planet. Xela swerved and hurtled over the bridge into the pavilion. Reaching the wall, she vaulted over it and turned in mid air to catch herself before she fell into the void, bracing her feet against the wall. She then dropped down to the bottom rim of the pavilion’s railing and dangled there, steadying her feet on the building’s supports and holding herself out of sight by her fingertips.

She waited, her hands screaming and her arms trembling as she heard a rush of footsteps and the indistinct yelling of the guards. Then she made herself stay for an extra five minutes, until the only sound she could hear was the quiet muttering of the creek. Her fingers shaking and bloodless, she climbed back over the railing and stumbled to the ground, her legs still tingling from her sudden flight. Cool air was pooling on the floor of the pavilion as the wind blew across the cliff face, and Xela wrapped her arms around her knees as she watched tiny, warm lights flickering to life in the buildings across the bridge. She could still hear the dull rumbling of the crowd from the festival as people filled the streets, trickling away to bars or clubs or beds; while she sat alone, a shadow on a distant planet.


	3. A Sneaky Interlude

Xela had no idea where she could go. She had made arrangements to stay in an inn just off of the main square, but she couldn’t convince herself to go anywhere near where she had last run into the guards. Instead, she curled more tightly against the railing and put her head in her hands, trying to take steadying breaths. How could such a wonderful day have taken such a disastrous turn? She’d run away from the guards, she’d disgraced herself and her Master-- what had she been thinking?

In the middle of her anguish, Xela realized that she could hear soft footfalls coming towards her, but her view of the bridge was blocked by the wall around the pavilion. She tensed, unsure whether to run, or where to go if she did-- did running make her look guilty?-- when a gray boot appeared in her line of sight, followed quickly by the woman in the white jacket. Her eyes lit on Xela’s huddled form, and her eyebrows rose in mild surprise.

“Well, you were right,” she said, turning her head to call back softly across the bridge. “She’s here.”

“I thought so,” said the young, dark-haired woman, appearing next. Then Ignae entered the pavilion with her indomitable smile.

“Hey! I’m sure glad to see you again.” Unable to help herself, Xela smiled back wanly.

“Are you? I _am_ a wanted criminal now,” she said, with an uneasy glance at the other two.

“Well, that’s true. But now we all are,” chirped Ignae.

“Oh yeah. I guess so-- wait what? Are you?” Xela stopped suddenly, looking at each of them in turn. “How are you all here?”

“As soon as you ran off, Ignae here-- that’s your name, right?” said the woman with the white jacket, looking at Ignae. At her nod, she continued. “--said that we couldn’t just leave you, slipped around her guard, and went after you. I’m not really sure why _we_ followed, other than the fact that we didn’t particularly want to get arrested either,” she said, sharing a look with the dark-haired woman. “But we’re here now. So it looks like we’re stuck with each other.”

Xela nodded, still confused, and shot a quizzical look at the other three. “Thanks, I think. But I still don’t-- but wait, how did you find me?” she said, shaking her head as she got to her feet. While the others replied, she slowly leaned back against the rail, making an effort to pull her scattered thoughts together.

The dark haired woman piped up. “You were terrified. The Force moves distinctly around such strong emotions, so it was easy enough to follow it to you.”

“I wasn’t that scared,” Xela mumbled, looking off into the darkness.

“Well, the Force doesn’t lie. I’m just answering your question,” said the woman with a disinterested shrug. There was a quiet moment where all they could hear was the sound of the creek. Then it stretched just an inch past comfort, and began to settle into solid awkwardness.

The jacketed woman finally spoke first. “Well… I suppose now’s a good a time as any to introduce ourselves. I’m Zita.”

“And I’m Ignae, though you already know that,” said the redhead, without missing a beat.

“I’m Xela,” said the Padawan, slipping in just behind Ignae. With an effort, she said “and I feel like maybe I should apologize right now, for getting you all into this. I’m so sorry, I’m not entirely sure why I took off back there.” Having finished, she glanced between the other women, feeling heat begin to prickle in the sleeves of her tunic.

“You know, I’m not either. That made no sense,” said Zita with an acerbic edge to her voice, “But there’s no use dwelling on it now.” Xela shrugged, still unable to look the others fully in the face.

“I guess… But listen to me, just harping on myself--, you are?” she said, looking towards the fourth woman, eager to turn the conversation in a new direction.

The last young woman looked up and said, “Oh, I’m Jesa.” They waited expectantly for a moment longer, but ‘Jesa’ was not any more forthcoming.

After another beat of silence, Xela hesitantly asked “So… You’re not actually a member of the Nightsisters, are you?” Jesa rolled her eyes with a huff.

“No, of course not.”

“Oh. Ok then. But you understand the Force? Are you a Jedi too?” Xela trailed off as the group looking curiously at the dark-haired woman.

“Not really, no,” replied Jesa, tugging at her overcoat. “But you know, it’s nice to meet you and all, but shouldn’t we be finding some shelter or something?”

Zita nodded, “You’re right. With our identichips gone, it won’t be long until they’ve got us on a watchlist. We need to get out of sight--” she frowned for a moment, her eyes unfocusing as she thought. “I brought Jokka a shipment of diamonds yesterday. I think he’d be willing to give us somewhere to stay for tonight. He’s one of my clients here,” she clarified, “and he doesn’t live far. We’ll just need to stay clear of the square, and the crowds from the festival should give us some cover.” Not knowing what else they could do, the others agreed. Thus resolved, they followed Zita as she crossed back into town.

Ignae caught up to the trader and began telling her about alternate routes she’d been through to avoid the most policed areas, and Xela fell into step next to Jesa. So, not a Nightsister or a Krath--or at least so she’d said. She was bothered by the woman’s stunted answers, but hoped Jesa might be willing to open up a bit more when it was just her. Master Ki-Adi-Mundi often said she had a trusting face; if anyone could win Jesa over, Xela hoped it would be her.

“So, what about a lightsaber? Do you have one of those?”

“Yes.”

“Can I see it?”

“You really want me to pull out a weapon right now?”

“It’s not like you have to use it or anything,” Xela complained. This wasn’t going well at the outset. “No, I just don’t ever remember seeing you around the temple.”

“So that makes you doubt I’m Jedi?” Jesa asked, raising her eyebrows. They followed Ignae and Zita under an archway into a long row of pillars, Xela trying not to duck her head in a guilty manner. In the back of her mind, she felt skittish and paranoid, as though everyone was looking at her.

“No, you just look young enough that I thought I would’ve seen you in training, though you’re clearly not a padawan anymore,” said Xela. “No braid,” she added, and pointed to her own.

Jesa opened her mouth as if to reply, hesitated, but never began once they nearly ran into Ignae’s and Zita’s backs.

“We’re here,” murmured Zita.

“Wow, you weren’t kidding when you said it wasn’t far,” whispered Ignae in reply. They stood in the middle of a narrow street, bordered with shuttered shops and darkened doorways. A glass window case displaying seasonal fashions and tiny marble figurines glowed forlornly into the street, casting a dim light upon a pale green door emblazoned with the number 934. It was this that Zita knocked softly upon, as they waited with bated breath, looking up and down the street for patrols. At first there was nothing, then they could hear a shuffling, scratching sound behind the wood, and the door opened with a hesitant scrape. Xela could see a tall Togruta before them, his skin a vibrant green and his montral horns silhouetted by the light from a dim lamp behind him.

“Zita,” he said, his voice low and grating, “I hadn’t expected another visit from you for at least month.”

“I know,” replied Zita, her voice as firm as her gaze. “But something’s come up, and we need a place to stay.” At that, his brow furrowed as he looked down at them, shadows pooling in his deep-set eyes.

“You in some kind of trouble, Zita? You know I don’t want any part in that.”

“It’s an innocent misunderstanding, I promise-- we just need somewhere to lay low until we can clear this up. I would never drag you into anything without a good reason, and we’ll be gone by tomorrow evening.” Jokka crossed his arms over his chest, the red sash he wore stretching across a rounded belly. Finally, he sighed.

“Fine, you’re welcome here tonight,” he said, stepping aside to allow them in. “But only because you’ve never dropped a shipment for me, and never run in with the law before. Right?” he asked, frowning. Zita, who had been crossing the threshold, halted and glared at the Togruta. Xela couldn’t see her face from behind Jesa’s back, but Jokka soon looked to his shoes, abashed, and turned to lead them deeper into the building.

They entered a long stone passage with a small table, chair, and a holoscreen by door, and intermittent spiral staircases every few feet along the wall. Jokka led the women up one of these staircases and past open doorways, which led into more rooms of the building, until he reached a low door at the top of the staircase. Pressing a small, silver button that sat next to it, the door slid open with a tinny screech to reveal a cramped, but comfortable room. The space at its center was filled by a low table surrounded with cushions, above which glowed a bright orb. Around the edges of the room lay four plush pallets, covered by gray wool blankets and crowned with downy pillows. After the four entered, peering cautiously at their new surroundings, Jokka left the women without a word, and the door closed behind him with a hiss.


	4. What Can't be Unsaid

The four women convened at the table; Zita leaning her elbows on the tabletop, Ignae lounging back on her hands with her legs stretched beneath it, Xela with her legs folded neatly under her, and Jesa with her arms loosely wound around her knees. Ohma D’un and Rori, the first two moons of Naboo, had already risen and made their journey across the night sky, while Tasia had only just reached it’s zenith among the stars. In spite of the late hour, the fugitives found that they couldn’t sleep after the events of the day, and were instead brooding under the clinical light of the orb in their room.

“So,” began Xela, hesitant. “What now?”

“We need to prove our innocence,” said Zita firmly, leaning her chin pensively on her interlocked hands. Now that they were unmoving and sitting close together, Xela noticed a thin white scar cutting across the tall woman’s right cheek. “That should be our biggest priority. Without wasting time feeling guilty,” she added pointedly, noting the crestfallen look on Xela’s face. Nodding, Xela moved closer to the table until she could also lean against it. Her emotions were not her, she was free, detached, a Jedi--

“Yeah, forgive n’ forget is what I say,” Ignae said from the wall, lazily waving away any protestations that might have been forthcoming. “That guy lied about us anyways, and I wouldn’t have fancied sharing a holding cell with his stupid face.”

“Yeah, why’d he turn on us like that?” Xela asked, annoyed. “I mean, I could understand why he’d turn you in, but the rest of us were just there,” she said reasonably, nodding towards Zita.

“Seriously?” asked Zita. “You’re gonna bring that up now, after fleeing the guards?”

“Well they wouldn't have been called without someone kicking him in the face now, would they?” replied Xela.

“What would you have done if someone tried to drag you off? And don’t say you would have done some Jedi mind trick on him,” retorted Zita.

Ignae interrupted the growing argument, asking, “Why would he be coming after you anyways?”

Zita replied slowly, her words extended as she chose each one carefully. “I’m not sure. Like I said, he was saying something about a well and a reward, and around then I decided that I’d had enough.”

Frustrated, Xela rose and began to pace up and down the length of the room, her arms crossed. “Great, what does that even mean? Maybe he was on something and barely knows what he-- Wait.” She paused with a sudden revelation and turned to face Ignae. “You sounded surprised when you heard the word ‘well’ earlier tonight, didn’t you? Do you have any idea what’s going on?”

All eyes turned towards the youngest member of their ragtag group. Ignae looked down and started fiddling with the hem of her short blue skirt, for once uncomfortable with the attention. “Not really, no, I can’t say that. I’d just heard mention of a well in one of the rumors that brought me here in the first place.” She looked up again, meeting their eyes in a blasé manner. “They’re the kind of bait links that claim there’s some new, exciting THING if you go just beyond the Outer Rim and make a left at the Crocus Nebula, you know? But it happened to mention Naboo, so I paid attention anyways. To be honest, it felt kind of like a chain letter, and I might’ve gotten a virus on my holoscreen later-- but that’s beside the point. Basically, I only heard a bit about a well, and it’s probably not as important as dealing with our present problems, right? Because I don’t know about you, but I don’t want go to prison.”

Zita’s eyes slid towards Ignae, but she let the matter drop when Xela clapped her hands together, saying, “You know what? You’re right, you’re right, you’re right, we can figure this out as we go. Save ourselves first, interplanetary mystery later.” She spun around in a decisive manner, and resumed her pacing. “So, what can we do?”

“What if we just captured that guy from the square ourselves? I saw him duck out just after you did. Between the four of us, we could probably make him give a full confession, or at least admit he was the one stirring up trouble. Then we’d be home free,” suggested Ignae, her chin resting in her hand as she spoke.

“That definitely _would_ be satisfying,” agreed Xela, turning the idea in her mind as she turned back to cross the room again. Zita made a noise of dissent, shaking her head.

“But how would we find him? All we have is a few minutes’ memory of his face, and he could be anywhere in the city by now. Then we’d probably have to get him to the proper authorities for his confession to be legitimate-- while somehow not getting arrested on sight. And then there’s the logistics of getting a confession in the first place.”

“What, couldn’t someone just wear a wire or something and get him talking?” said Ignae, a little stung by Zita’s quick dismissal.  
    “You don’t think he’d _actually_ talk to one of us, would you? And who would be stupid enough to agree to actively help us? We’re lucky even Jokka took us in, and he’s one of my most liberal clients,” Zita said, gesturing towards the floors below where the Togruta resided.

“Well, ok, so maybe we don’t wiretap him. Maybe I can push him into going to the guards and telling the truth,” Xela said, jumping into the discussion.

“How do you figure you’re going to do that?” said Zita skeptically, crossing her arms as she leaned back from the table.

“Well, I may not be a full Jedi, but my Master has said that I have a pretty good touch for influencing the weak-willed,” replied Xela, trying not to preen too much. “And that guy didn’t seem like he was the brightest lightsaber in the temple.”

“Is that entirely ethical?” said Jesa’s subdued voice. Xela felt a flush of heat creep from her collar across her face.

“I mean, he _did_ turn us over the the guards after trying to kidnap Zita, so I’d say that if anyone deserved to have his mind… prodded in the right direction, it’d be him.” said Xela, her fingers thumbing through her hair to tug at her braid.

“I didn’t think the laws of karma were under the Jedi’s jurisdiction,” said Jesa. Xela rolled her lips together and looked away. Why’d Jesa have to bring that up? Of course she got to be the one who’d find Xela, then be the moral one too-- now Xela felt like a child who could neither keep her cool, nor be trusted not to abuse her abilities.

“Plus,” Ignae said, her voice interrupting Xela’s spiraling embarrassment, “don’t people tend to behave a little… weird, when they’ve been manipulated? I feel like the guards would notice, especially if our man had to say something long-winded, like a confession.”

“Ugh, that’s true too,” groaned Xela, grudgingly letting go of the idea. Frag, she had really wanted to make up for running away and dragging them into this mess.

“Well, what if we could avoid a direct confrontation with him?” said Zita, tapping her fingers thoughtfully on the surface of the table, following some rhythm only she could hear. “We were in a public place on one of the most celebrated nights of the year-- There’s got to be cameras of some kind that documented the whole incident.”

“I mean, we were,” said Ignae, “But just like you said, it was a public place on one of the busiest nights on the planet. Even if we knew where to find recordings like that, there’s no guarantee we could find ourselves in the transmission as proof.” Pursuing her lips, Zita nodded and fell silent again.

Disheartened, the three women suggested and considered five more plans of action, ranging from peaceful protest to luring the man back to them for an ambush-- but each time they were able to find gaping issues in their ideas, leading to inevitable failure. Jesa remained silent, watching the proceedings with mute attentiveness. She only spoke every once in awhile, discovering further loopholes in their plans as they grew into greater flights of fantasy.

Maybe Xela was exhausted, wrung out from seeing the city in more ways than one. Maybe she was ashamed, wishing for any release for her discomfort-- either way, a slow resentment was beginning to bleed from her towards the dark-haired woman.

“Don’t you have _anything_ positive to say?” Xela finally asked, irked as Jesa shot down another of their plans. “Come on, you’ve been awfully quiet.”

Jesa shrugged, her face unreadable. “Maybe I don’t have much to contribute right now. I’ve only just met you guys, after all.” Xela stopped.

“Oh, so it’s ok to stalk someone through the streets by unknown methods, but _contributing_ to something that affects us _all_ is a bit of a stretch?” she said, feeling petty as she lay back on her bed--she had migrated to a pallet sometime between plans three and four.

“I’d hardly call using the Force an ‘unknown method,’’’ Jesa replied immediately.

“Well fine, then maybe you could use it now to help us find the guy who ruined our weekend,” muttered Xela, staring up at the light until her eyes began to water.

“You know that’s not how it works,” came the Jedi’s soft reply. Xela groaned inwardly, why couldn’t this woman just make things easy, for once? This entire process was reminding Xela of the times when her teachers at the temple would give them projects and then divide them into groups. Although that was normally fine, sometimes one person (usually going through a fit of admiration for Master Yoda) would be unable to give the group a straight answer to anything, even the most simple of questions. It’d only ever be lame anecdotes, or statements so vague that one could tell they were supposed to contain great spiritual wisdom. Meanwhile, the rest of the group would struggle to actually complete the assignment, without the help of the wannabe soothsayer.

“Ugh, _please_ don’t try to tell me how the Force works,” said Xela. “I _know_ that. Obviously.”

“Then why’d you say that, just now?”

“Sorry, I just get confused when I somehow manage to run into the _one_ Jedi Knight on the planet who’s even more vague and secretive than most Jedi are-- and that’s saying something. Come on, we don’t have time for that,” argued Xela, hauling herself up from her bed into a sitting position to look at the other Jedi. As she did so, she missed how Jesa stiffened at her words.

“That’s not what I am,” Jesa said, quiet but firm.

“Excuse me, what?” Xela asked.

“A Jedi. I’m not a member of the Order-- I told you before,” said the other woman, and if Xela didn’t know any better, she’d say that there was a hint of distaste in her voice. Xela shook her head, her face perplexed.

“But of course you are,” she said slowly, as though explaining something to a child. “How else would you know all this about the Force? And you’ve got a lightsaber,” she finished, as if that settled everything.

“Those things aren’t mutually inclusive,” insisted Jesa, her face weary as though she had had this argument on numerous occasions.

“You two, could we please get back to our bigger problem right now?” Zita tried to interject, but neither of the women listened as Xela moved to pick herself up from her bed.

“Actually, they usually are,” said Xela, “And if you’re not a Jedi, then what are you?”

“Does that really matter?” said Jesa, her agitation rising.

“Well yeah,” scoffed Xela, “If I don’t know what you are, why would I trust you?”

“Wait, so you’re saying if I’m not a Jedi, then I’m inherently untrustworthy?” Unsure what kind of line she was crossing, but also vexed and unwilling to back down, Xela pushed on ruthlessly.

“Yeah, if you want to put it that way!” she said, crossing her arms and settling her weight onto one hip, looking down at where the other woman sat at the table. Immediately, Xela could feel a subtle shift in the room, as though the entire place had clicked into another reality, where the air was close and uncomfortable and everyone was waiting for a hurricane to break.

Getting to her feet, Jesa stepped closer until Xela could see the storm brewing behind her dark eyes. “Fine. You want to know about me?” challenged Jesa, her voice low and dangerous. “I,” she said, her eyes boring into Xela’s, “actually passed my Trials. I was a Jedi, until the day that I realized that the Jedi cared more about upholding their _principles_ and their precious _Code_ than they did about actually progressing the galaxy.” Xela gaped, almost stupefied to hear such things said about the Jedi, and finding it difficult not to take a step back from the other woman’s furious gaze.

“What?!” she said, “No, how could you say that? The Jedi--”

“--Are figureheads in an ivory tower, only thinking of the purity of the light. Meanwhile, the rest of us have to deal with real problems, in the real world. And news flash, they don’t work in black and white-- out here, everything’s in shades of gray.” Jesa stopped, her chest rising and falling in a steep rhythm. She closed her eyes for a moment, and when she opened them again, the frustration that had lit them was gone. But Xela couldn’t forget-- even now she found that she had nothing to say, no retort or defense rising to her lips. “Doesn’t exactly work well with principles,” said Jesa, softer than before. “Especially the Jedi’s. So I made my own. I found my own balance, more than I ever could have with them. And I do what I can.

“That’s all you _really_ need to know.”

The woman stepped back from Xela, releasing her from whatever tension had left her unmoving while Jesa delivered her tirade-- Xela felt as though she had been holding her breath, and only now that the Jesa was moving away could she breathe again. She was floundering in her mind, struggling between defiance and confusion, hurt and surprise-- but somewhere in that scribbling mess in her head, one small spark of clarity gleamed through, something Jesa had said. In Xela’s desire to say reply, to say _anything_ after what she had just heard, she felt as though her mouth was suddenly speaking of its own accord. And of course, as a result, the most inane statement wormed its way into the silence.

“You’re a Gray Jedi, aren’t you? That’s what you are,” Xela said in a small voice. Jesa seemed exhausted by her outburst, and raised one hand in an apathetic shrug.

“Sure, if that’s what you want to call it. What matters is that I’m not a Jedi, and that you shouldn’t _ever_ call me that again.” There was a thick silence as the two women stood facing each other, their faces swimming between shadow and light as the orb swayed in circles above them.   

Ignae was the one to finally stand, shattering the quiet. “I think,” she said, “we’ve all had a long day. Maybe now,” she continued, her tone carefully light, “we should take some time to rest, and we can decide what to do in the morning.”

“I agree,” said Zita, pushing herself to her feet. “It’s already the middle of the night, and we need to be ready for tomorrow. Are we clear?” She looked between the two force-wielders, her voice steady.

“Yes.” Jesa turned away and walked towards the furthest cot. “We are.”

“Of course, we’re-- we’re fine,” Xela said, finally looking away from Jesa’s retreating back to meet Zita’s brown eyes. Just then, she could see how the trader’s eyes crinkled delicately around the edges from laughter she had never heard.

“Good,” Zita said, turning to the nearest pallet.

“Well, good night then, I suppose,” said Ignae, backing slowly towards another of the cots.

“Yeah,” mumbled Xela, her voice distant, “Good night.” Walking towards the entrance to their room, she pushed a small button close to the door, and the light from the orb dwindled into nothing. She found way back to the remaining bunk by touch, and curled up on the stiff mattress with her back to the to the others. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes, but she scrubbed them away and lay still until the arms of the night carried her into nothingness.

 


	5. Ok But Who Actually Has a Plan?

The sun shone in gentle rays through the portholes of their room as the sky lightened from a dusky blue to a violent orange. Xela sighed in her sleep and rolled over, awakening to the sounds of the sleeping women she was sharing the room with. Her back cracked as she sat up, wiping the rags of her dreams from her eyes and rolling her neck in stiff circles. Seeing that she was the only one up, she quietly shuffled herself into a meditative position, hoping to peacefully pass the time until her companions awoke. But even as she began to slow her breathing, the argument from the night before came rushing back into her mind. Xela shivered as she remembered Jesa’s harsh words about the Jedi, and the way that her face had darkened when associated with the Order. Xela had heard of Gray Jedi before, those who trained in the light but later left, often for unknown reasons, but she’d never understood them, even on a purely theoretical basis. The Jedi were goodness and order personified, wielders of the light, masters of the Force; what could possibly compel someone to leave? Or, in Jesa’s case, to look back with such disdain? Xela felt her muscles tightening as an image of her opponent’s face swam in front of her, distorted with superiority and disgust.

“Good morning,” said a soft voice behind her, and Xela twitched to see Zita sitting primly atop her pallet, her back straight and her legs folded in front of her.

“How long have you been awake?” Xela whispered, “I mean, good morning.”

“Not too long, but I didn’t want to disturb you,” said Zita, disregarding Xela’s fumbling. “And I’ve been doing some thinking.” Xela nodded, untangling her legs and putting her feet on the smooth stone floor; it’s chill seeped through her socks and made her shiver. “I think we need to settle things with the Captain of the guard if we want to be upstanding citizens again.”

“I agree,” added a sleepy voice from across the room. Ignae propped herself up on one arm, her disheveled hair falling in a wave across her shoulders. “If we go back to him and you tell him you’re a Jedi, or almost a Jedi,” she said her voice apologetic on the last note, “Surely he’d know that you, of all people, wouldn’t be starting fights. Maybe you could vouch for us.” Xela considered, hardly daring to be hopeful.

“I guess that could work,” she murmured. “Yeah, why not? I can call my Master--” she hesitated, “Or, you know, another Master at the temple who can act as references.” She smiled as they sun rose higher in the sky, “He’ll have to believe us then!”

“But what about the bounty hunter?” said Jesa, and Xela flinched, glancing towards the far corner of the room. She hadn’t realized that the Gray Jedi was awake.

Zita frowned, “A bounty hunter?” Jesa leaned back against the wall by her bed, one knee tucked in front of her with her elbow wrapped around it and her other leg stretched off of the mattress.

“Yeah, the man with the black chestplate,” Jesa said with a nod. “I thought he looked familiar last night, but I just remembered where I last saw him. In the Outer Rim, we call him the Bounty Botcher-- nobody’s bothered to learn his real name, but he’s one of the most…” she struggled for a moment to think of an apt word, “...ineffective bounty hunters on this side of the galaxy. That was him, last night.”

“Oh,” said Ignae. “Well, no wonder you were able to take him out with one kick.” At Zita’s look, she added hastily, “Not that that wasn’t amazing, I’ll treasure that story forever, but at least now we know why he was so ready to run straight to the guards instead of fighting back.”

“Yeah, he never takes a job that he thinks will take more than an afternoon’s work. He must’ve thought something, or someone, was easy money on Naboo,” said Jesa, stretching her arms above her head.

“But what was he doing here anyways?” asked Ignae, rolling out of bed and shuffling to the table to sit down.

“Yeah, I want to know that too,” Xela said with her back turned as she smoothed the blanket on her bed, tucking the ends beneath the mattress. “Maybe if we know what he wants, we’ll have an easier time finding him.” She turned back to see a pensive look on Zita’s face.

“I might have an idea about that,” she said, also moving to the table. She settled herself before continuing, folding her hands on the tabletop, her head cocked as she looked down at her own interlocked fingers. Finally, she looked across the table at Ignae, and said “Last night, you mentioned some rumors that brought you here to Naboo. They’ve reached me too, all the way on Coruscant.”

“What rumors?” asked Xela, joining them at the table.

“It’s mostly hearsay, but it’s been said that something powerful has been found. A place with the power to reinvent the galaxy. And something about a well, apparently,” Zita added, as an afterthought. A moment passed as the two younger women waited around the table, the only sounds the muted voices of early passerby from the street.

“Wait,” Ignae said. “And that’s it? That’s all the rumors say?”

“Yeah, that’s about it.”

“Nothing more specific?”

“No. Anything more specific and I wouldn’t have believed it, honestly,” said Zita. “But this is something that people can’t, or won’t name, yet refuse to forget.” Ignae leaned back, her shoulders lowering as an audible sigh escaped her.

“Are you ok?” asked Jesa from behind her.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” said Ignae, “Just still a little worn out from all the mystery. But,” she said with a shake, leaning back towards the table, “even though this is all fascinating stuff, what are we going to do about the Botcher?”

“It’s true, he’s still out there, but I think he might actually be the key to saving us,” Jesa said as she too approached the table and sat down.

“How do you mean?” asked Zita.

“Well, even though he’s incompetent, that hasn’t stopped Botcher from trying to make a name for himself on almost every planet in the Mid-Rim. I have no doubt that he has a record here, no matter how petty,” said Jesa, planting her elbows on the table.

Catching on, Zita continued, “And if we could expose Botcher in front of the Captain, then the guards would have to take Xela’s word over his.” Xela nodded, her excitement building and hardly dampened by her efforts to avoid Jesa’s eyes.

“Then we’d be free, and maybe the captain would even take him in instead!” exclaimed Ignae, her eyes sparkling. Even Jesa couldn’t repress the ghost of a smile as the four sat in the morning sun and a glimmer of hope warmed the room.

Then Zita spoke, and the light dimmed as shreds of cloud passed in front of the rising glare. “But you know what we’ll need to incriminate him though, don’t you?”

Ignae bit her lip, her breath whistling between her teeth as she thought. “We’re gonna need a copy of his criminal records, aren’t we?”

Zita nodded, her face grim. “We need to get to the Yram Hall of Records.”


	6. Yram Hall of Records

Zita kept her promise to Jokka; as the city buzzed to life that evening, still humming with traffic from the Festival of Lights, four cloaked figures slipped from a hole-in-the-wall door. Dark hoods covered their faces as they walked in a tight clump, moving through the crowd like a boat through a current, leaving swirling eddies of people in their wake.

“Move, move!” Zita hissed, shoving Xela’s shoulder until they were crowded inside a dark alcove outside a small chapel. She peered around Zita’s hood as the other woman stood with her back to the crowd, watching as a small troop of soldiers wandered through the square, scrutinizing every face they passed. Xela ducked her face back behind Zita’s shoulder, trying not to obviously shrink into the folds of her robe.

“They’re gone,” said Jesa’s soft voice behind her, sending shivers down Xela’s shoulders. Zita eased back into the crowd, and Xela followed, pulling Ignae just behind her to put some distance between herself and the Gray Jedi. Although she kept telling herself that she was calm, detached, and rational, Xela couldn’t rid herself of the nagging, sickening sensation that curled in her stomach whenever she saw Jesa. She almost felt painfully aware of the other woman, as if she was waiting for a bomb to detonate. More than anything, she wished Master Ki-Adi-Mundi was there so that she could turn to him for guidance, to help her understand how the Gray Jedi could possibly have become what Jesa was now. A She couldn’t fathom why anyone would want to leave the greatest protectors the Galaxy had, and hoped maybe he knew what truly made one fit to be a Jedi Knight-- and ergo, whatever it was that made Jesa miss the mark.

It had occurred to her that maybe Jesa wasn’t a Jedi at all, and had lied to her about the Trials-- maybe she hadn’t truly passed them? After all, how could she have succeeded, only to abandon the Code that the Trials should have ensured she could uphold? Xela herself still felt her heart dip like a ship entering hyperspace when she thought of the Trials, and her faith in Jedi was absolute. She didn’t understand how Jesa could have lost hers; they had both been raised under the Jedi’s watchful eyes, been trained and protected-- unless-- Xela stumbled over the hem of her robe, only saved from falling under the feet of the crowd by Ignae’s hand on her shoulder.

“Are you ok?” she asked as she steadied the Padawan.

“Yeah, fine,” nodded Xela, regaining her balance as Jesa sidled up behind the redhead, her eyes glittering under her hood.

“Is everything-- ?” began Jesa, but Xela cut her off quickly, waving her hand in a sharp, dismissive manner.

“Everything’s fine,” she said, her voice tight as she hurried after Zita, not giving Jesa a chance to respond.

“Op, ok, we’re going again now,” said Ignae, ducking under arms and between rickety carts to catch up to Xela’s harried pace. Xela sighed to herself once they were back in their robed unit, although she was still achingly aware of Jesa just behind her. If she and the Gray Jedi had begun their training in the same way, maybe it was something else that had caused them to turn out so differently. Maybe Jesa wasn’t what she seemed, since before the Jedi had found her; maybe there was some instability in her that was even now working against them, something inherently _wrong_. Steely resolve settled in Xela’s stomach, quashing the unsettled vines that had begun to take root there-- she didn’t know what Jesa’s angle was, but she was going to find out, whether the other woman liked it or not.

Xela came out of her reverie just as the group pushed through a narrow square and around a platinum fountain that tinkled among the hubbub of voices, heading towards a side street just off of Jafan Place. Round, colored lamps bobbed on wires overhead, turning the people below into gaudy phantoms as they sat at outdoor restaurants or lounged against the fountain, smoking pipes that leeched a pungent smoke. Xela wriggled between two massive creatures she didn’t know the names of, struggling not to trip over the tentacles that seemed to serve as their feet as she followed Zita’s back.

The light of the square swiftly faded behind them as Zita descended into the shadows of the alley, and the group was forced to wind down it’s length in a single-file line, dipping around bins and the huddled forms of the homeless waiting for restaurants to put out their scraps for the night. Finally, they broke out of the alley and found themselves directly in front of a wide set of steps, leading to a massive marble facade. Large pillars towered above them to hold the triangular roof of the Hall of Records, which was engraved with vines and trailing Aurebesh script. Behind the pillars, an imposing set of iron doors hunched in the darkness, and it was before these doors that the group came to a halt.

“Please, please don’t tell me you’re just going to knock on the door and see if anyone answers,” said Ignae, looking up at the massive knockers several feet above her head.

“Why, do you see a ‘No Soliciting’ sign anywhere?” said Zita dryly. “No, of course not, we’re here for the door just around there,” she pointed towards the far corner of the building, and Ignae hopped down the stairs and disappeared around the indicated pillar. The others followed more slowly, slipping out of sight of the main entrance and along a small gravel passage squeezed between the hall and the apartment complex next door. Ahead of them, Ignae’s shadow bobbed to a stop in front of a smaller door barred with a heavy padlock. She tugged at it experimentally, listening to the rattling of the gears inside.

“Anyone here a locksmith?” she asked, letting the mechanism fall.

“Here, let me,” said Jesa, pushing past Xela and Zita to kneel by the door. Taking it between her fingers, Jesa examined it for a moment before closing her eyes. Her breathing slowed, and then the lock clicked open in her hands.

“Nice,” said Ignae appreciatively as Jesa unwound the lock from the door and slid the bar aside. Jesa shrugged as she pushed the door open and Zita disappeared through it, followed closely by Ignae.

“Yeah, real nice,” Xela muttered under her breath, stepping through the door herself. “Definitely a good use of our powers.”

“Did you see another way?” asked Jesa, tugging the door shut behind them.

“There’s always another way,” said Xela as the landing plunged into darkness.

“Oh good, then why don’t you enlighten me, oh great Jedi Master,” replied Jesa tersely.

“You two, shush!” clucked Zita, and then there was a crackling sound before a green stick of light illuminated her face. “Ignae, why don’t you take this?”

“Here!” called Ignae in the darkness, and Zita tossed the stick down the hall they stood in. Ignae’s face suddenly appeared as she caught the light, her eyes eerie and ghoulish as she raised it above her head and turned to follow the hallway. Jesa and Xela fell into a mullish silence as they followed Zita, who cracked another stick that glowed with a clean, blue light. Xela couldn’t see the end of the hallway beyond the swaying green spark that was Ignae, but their footsteps echoed deafeningly as they walked down a smooth staircase, and past a row of steel doors that presumably lead into archives or offices of some sort. Zita paused before each door, peering at the silver labels next to each one as Ignae dashed to the end of the hall, finally signaling that their way was clear.

“None of these will have it,” Zita muttered, “I think we’ll need to make our way to the main reading room, and move further from there.” The other two nodded, and they all joined Ignae at the end of the hallway, secretly glad to leave the subterranean hallway that felt suspiciously like a crypt.

They mounted the stairs at the end of the hall, and found themselves facing another door. A wave of Jesa’s hand allowed them to continue, in spite of Xela’s disapproving huff, and the group entered a large round room with a cavernous domed roof. The walls around the entire place were lined with shelves, each filled with flat tablets that glowed with a pale, blue-white light. A round desk sat at the center of the room, presumably where a record-keeper would assist visitors that came to the hall during the day, and a monitor sat on the desk next to neat stacks of holocrons. Zita hurried towards the screen and powered it on, leaving her light next to the holographic keyboard. The others crowded around her, their faces all lit in a wash of blue light from the monitor as Zita muttered to herself, clicking through database menus.

She scrolled past municipal data and building permits, finally making a satisfied noise as she reached a ‘Public Offenders’ section. There were endless lists of registered offenders, with a sub-heading specifically for known Bounty Hunters and their activities on the planet. It was here that finally gave Zita a pause.

“What? What is it?” asked Xela, peering sideways at Zita’s perturbed face.

“Do we know the Bounty Botcher’s real name?” asked the woman, chewing on one lip.

“I--” began Xela, before suddenly stopping. “Ah.”

“Oh,” Ignae said slowly, tapping her fingers on the desktop, “but wasn’t it, you know,” she turned towards Jesa, snapping her thumb as though the sound would bring them the information they needed. “Something like--”

“Um,” said Jesa, “Well. I’m sure it was…” They all hovered there, hunched over the desk in the dark as the seconds ticked by.

“Frag! We don’t know,” Ignae said, and there was a quiet slapping sound as one of Jesa’s hands fell over her eyes. Zita straightened up, stretching as her back cracked.

“Hm, that’s ok, we can fix this. This is fine,” she said as she stepped back from the screen and took a few cursory steps back and forth behind the rest of the women. “Ok,” she said again, and then pointed to Jesa. “What other planets has Botcher been on?”

“Like I said, almost any of them,” replied Jesa. “But most bounty hunters are pretty widely travelled too, I’m not sure we could use any particular locations to cross-reference him.”

“Can any of you remember any particularly public scandals he was a part of?” Zita pressed.

Staring off into the vaults of the ceiling thoughtfully, Jesa said, “Well, there was that one affair with a senator on Garel.”

“What happened?” asked Ignae, turning around and hopping up to sit on the desk.

“Well-- he meant to assassinate the senator in the hotel he was staying at, but for some reason decided that meant he needed to infiltrate the place himself, instead of just acting as a sniper,” said Jesa. “So, he decided to pretend he was an escort.”

“Wait, an escort as in--” said Ignae, cocking an eyebrow.

“Oh yeah, exactly as you’re thinking.”

“That’s ridiculous!” Ignae dissolved into chuckles that echoed around the room.

“Shush, do you _want_ to get us caught?” hissed Zita. “But at least that should be easy enough to research, I think I might remember that episode too,” she said as she slipped in front of the screen again and opened another window, this time accessing public transmissions from a few years ago. It took them some hedging to find the right date, but finally they found a small editorial from Garel detailing the Botcher’s attempt and eventual escape.

“How has _he_ not been caught yet? Or straight-up died,” said Xela, watching a muted clip of the Botcher as he leaped spectacularly from a glass window, trailing long strings of jewelry and what looked suspiciously like a feather boa.

“Probably for the entertainment value, to be honest,” Ignae said, and she and Xela snickered as Zita highlighted the Botcher’s name and entered it into the database. Sure enough, it wasn’t long before the man from the square’s image appeared before them, including a list of his criminal counts, known aliases, and last known location, the screen flickering over his pale mug shots.

“Wait,” said Xela, leaning closer to the monitor as she stood at Zita’s shoulder, “His name’s _Eugene_?”

“Oh stars, please tell me you’re not joking,” piped Ignae, her voice gleeful as she hopped from the lip of the desk to stand on Zita’s other side. She gave a delighted gasp and said: “You’re not! Oh, that’s fabulous.”

“Eugene framed us?” said Xela again, trying smother her laughter with her cupped hands, “That doesn’t even sound real!”

“Right?” chuckled Ignae, leaning an elbow on Xela’s shoulder.

“Keep it together ladies, come on,” muttered Zita as her fingers flew across the keyboard, downloading the Botcher’s records onto one of the lendable holocrons the library kept for visitors. Just out of reach from the screen, a small green light flashed on one of the devices, signaling that it was ready for use. Zita rose from the chair to retrieve it, resigned to leaving Xela and Ignae to their giddiness, when Jesa suddenly snatched her wrist.

“Look,” she hissed, pointing towards an archival door across the room from the one they had entered. A pale, white light was bobbing through the porthole in the door, and steadily brightening. “Surveillance droid,” Jesa breathed, her voice tinged with urgency. She snatched the two younger woman's shoulders as their laughter was smothered with alarm, shoving them beneath the desk before bundling herself beside them. Zita scrambled to the keyboard, frantically exiting the database and putting the monitor to sleep. Then she dropped below the rim of the desk just as they heard the door slide open with a hydraulic hiss.

Xela’s knees were folded tightly against her chest, and she could feel the handle of her lightsaber digging painfully into her hip. From where she sat, she could barely see Jesa’s shape in the darkness, although she could feel the other woman’s legs awkwardly tangled with her own. She could just hear the vague hum of the droid’s processors as it drifted into the room, and she dug her fingers into the folds of her tunic, doing her best to still the beating of her heart as sweat prickled at her hairline. Their breathing sounded too loud in the confined space, and Xela jolted when she saw a shadow flicker next to Jesa. Zita’s arm darted back into view, her face flashing in a glow of blue before she stuffed her light into her jacket. Xela felt her face blanch; surely there was no way the droid had missed that flicker? If they were caught, it would only be a matter of minutes before the guard would be at the door, and their pictures plastered on every transmission across the city. Her mind rushed ahead of her, thinking that Master Ki-Adi-Mundi could hardly fail to miss his Padawan’s face among the wanted of Naboo. Did they let criminals take the Trials?

Xela pressed her lips together, hunching her shoulders a bit tighter. All of a sudden she noticed a sharp white glow appear, shining under the bottom edge of the desk by her right shoulder. Breathing shallowly, she tried not to think about how the droid was probably hovering only few feet above their heads.The light grew, and Xela had to resist the urge to try and tuck her feet away, fearing that any movement would alert the droid to their presence. The light grew brighter, and Xela could envision the droid’s round casing and red eye just beyond the desk, the wooden paneling feeling far too flimsy to be any comfort.

Finally, the Padawan could hear a small warbling sound, and the light died away as quickly as it had come. Even so, she didn’t need Zita’s warning touch on her knee to know they weren’t safe yet, and had no idea where the droid was now. Listening carefully, they could all still hear it somewhere in the main reading room, though the vague echo made it difficult to guess at the droid’s location-- was it hiding somewhere up in the dome’s shadows? Drifting over the desk to discover them at any moment? Ignae shifted slightly, and tipped her head out towards the shelves. Ducking her head to see past the other woman, Xela could see a round shape silhouetted against the glow of the tablets. The droid was hovering around the opposite side of the desk, seemingly heading towards the door they had entered. It vanished from their view, and Xela hardly dared to breathe as pain began to crackle from her cramped knees. The hiss of the other door surprised her, and she twitched again when they heard it slide shut.

Sighing with relief, she wasted no time tumbling out from beneath the desk after Ignae, stretching her back after their confinement.

“Come on, let’s go,” murmured Jesa, “I’d rather not stay until it comes back on its next round.” Zita nodded, only taking a moment to dig their holocron out of the pile before following Jesa, Ignae, and Xela out from behind the desk. The four women rushed to the exit, and Xela was so relieved that they hadn’t been caught that she didn’t even mind following just behind the Gray Jedi. Jesa reached the door first, and took a cursory glance through the porthole. “We’re good,” she whispered and hit the button to let them through, stepping aside to let Ignae and Zita take the lead down the stairs as they produced their glow sticks from their jackets. They hustled across the landing and down the hall, their boots tapping softly across the tiles as they went, preferring speed over stealth. Xela kept glancing over her shoulder anxiously, unnerved at the hollow darkness behind them and the solemn gleaming of the doors.

Just as she was turning back from one of these glances, there was a creaking, squealing sound just to their right, louder than any alarm she could remember. Her heart stopped in her chest. A blinding light blasted into her eyes. She gasped, reeling as she suddenly collided with Jesa’s back and stumbled to the floor, her wrists banging painfully onto the unforgiving floor. Her breath knocked out of her, Xela twisted towards the light, raising her hand to shield her eyes.

The surveillance droid hovered in the doorway of the archive next to them, the light from it’s eye pinning them like butterflies in a collector’s shadow box.

“Oh frag,” said Xela, almost too startled to be afraid. Zita lept forward, overshadowing the other three as her body blocked the light, and smashed down on the droid with the fist that held the glowstick. The droid was not meant for combat, and fell hard to dash against the floor. It beeped with alarm, damaged but unbroken, and began to rise again, dipping drunkenly out of the path of Zita’s next swing. But it couldn’t avoid Ignae, who snatched it out of the air with preternatural speed and smashed it against the wall, plastic shards and glass skimming across the floor. Jesa snagged Xela’s arm and pulled her to her feet, barely noticing when the Padawan pulled her arm from her grasp as all four took off down the hallway.

“Did we just make it worse?” yelled Ignae, leaping up the steps.

“Hopefully we got it before it alerted the guard,” huffed Zita, fumbling at the door with full hands.  Almost on instinct, Xela reached out with the Force and wrenched it open, nearly knocking the trader back down the stairs.

“Good use of your abilities, Padawan,” muttered Jesa as they ducked out the door.

“Oh, shut up,” whispered Xela furiously as she dragged it closed again. “I’m just glad the guard isn’t--” For the second time that night, a blinding light caught her full in the face, glaring towards them from the front entrance of the gravel passage.

“Freeze! In the name of the King!” demanded a voice from behind the light. Jesa extended her hands, and the guards at the end of the passage tumbled to the ground, the light swinging erratically as its owner fell. In unison, all four women turned around and dashed the opposite direction, their feet snapping across the ground. Xela’s eyes danced with iridescent spots and her head felt light as she sprinted at Jesa’s side, her breath coming in gasps somewhere between terror and elation. They hurtled to the end of the passage and turned to the right, Xela’s palm stinging as she snatched the corner to help herself wheel around the bend. They were now running through a close side street bordered with restaurants, still humming with evening customers that Xela shoved through, pushing desperately before Zita broke off and took them beneath a tall archway. They burst into a large, empty square rimmed with pillars on every side, which they ducked behind. With dreamlike clarity, Xela spotted a clump of guards on the other side of the square as pillars flashed across her vision, lounging watchfully in a pool of light next to a temple. Glancing back as they ran over the smooth marble floor, Xela saw that the number of their pursuers had doubled and she twisted back quickly, urging her legs to go faster and gasping against the burn in her lungs.

They reached the end of the pillars, leading to a shadowed crossroad.

“This way, this way!” yelled Jesa, pitching down the street to the right.

“Zita!” called Xela as the trader almost overshot the turn and skidded back, and they plunged away from the square. They leapt up the stairs of a small bridge, Xela feeling like they flew down the other side, her knees straining upon landing. Then they rounded another corner and found themselves facing a dead end after a stretch of alleyway-- in the darkness, Xela wasn’t sure she could tell where exactly the alley ended.

“Jesa!” shrieked Xela, beginning to slow in spite of the encroaching clamor of the guards.

“We can lift them, come on!” shouted back the Gray Jedi, still running ahead with Zita and Ignae.

“If! If we can lift them!” yelled Xela, immediately understanding what Jesa wanted to do.

“Are you a Jedi or not?” said Jesa between breaths, out of patience. “Keep running towards the wall, we’ve got you!” she shouted to Zita and Ignae, who, after a moment’s hesitation, did as they were instructed. Screaming internally, Xela caught up to Jesa and stumbled to a halt beside her, gasping in a last attempt to calm her mind. Ignae and Zita neared the wall at an alarming speed, Jesa’s dark eyes never leaving them as she concentrated. “On my mark,” she said, settling into a broad stance.

“Why yours?”

“Three, two, NOW.”

Xela squeaked, lifted her hands and pushed with the Force, feeling the pulse of her friends as energy moved around them-- The other two women catapulted from the ground, soaring upward as their momentum continued to carry them towards the wall. Dully, Xela could hear Ignae give a small scream, whether it was in delight or surprise she didn’t know. Ignae and Zita easily cleared the roof and tumbled out of sight, Xela thought maybe she had pushed too much, it looked like they’d almost gone too far-- “Ok, now us,” said Jesa grimly, and Xela growled to herself, wishing that the other woman would stop telling her what to do.

As a swarm of guards tumbled across the bridge and spilled around the corner, the two Jedi sprinted towards the wall, and at last second, _pushed_ . Xela felt a throbbing through her ears and along the back of her skull as the ground swept away from her feet, tumbling beneath them as they shot above the rim of the roof. There was a single moment of peace when the reached the peak of their respective arcs, the streets of the city sparkling and stretching around them at eye level. Jesa began to descend before Xela did, her arms wheeling as she hit the rounded roof and skidded towards the rim. Then it was Xela’s turn. Her heart rose into her throat, and wind whipped through her hair as the roof eagerly rushed to meet her. Her feet slammed into the dome, the impact rattling through her shins and she immediately pitched into a clumsy forward roll, diffusing her momentum as she popped back to her feet. She threw her upper body against the roof as her feet slid beneath her, skidding down across the metal while she tried to slow her descent with her hands. She couldn’t see, she had no idea where the roof ended, her heart was pounding as though it wanted to escape her chest-- She suddenly crashed into a stone gutter at the edge of the roof with a painful jolt, her feet catching roughly in the basin. Her legs shuddered and she could feel her balance tipping precariously. Her back ached from falling into the dome and there was a high ringing in her ears, the skin on her hands stung from clawing at the smooth metal, and she knew with perilous certainty that she was going to fall. With a gasp, she threw herself against the roof and crouched as low as she could in the gutter, her numb hands scrabbling for purchase. The wind was buffeting her shoulders alarmingly at this height, and she hated to think what might happen if she lost her balance or was caught in particularly strong gust-- the sidewalks were a long way down. But she steadied, and as her heart began to ease its wild thumping, Xela began to feel a vaguely hysterical laugh building in her chest. They’d done it, they’d _escaped_. Well, for the time being.

Craning her neck to peer over her shoulder, Xela risked releasing one of her arms from it’s hopeless clinging to drag her hair out of her face. Behind her, she was glad to see that her companions had all made their own relatively safe landings at the edge of the dome, and were now huddled against it, the light from the streets below gleaming dimly across their faces. Xela could still feel herself trembling as her initial rush of adrenaline faded, leaving her weak and exhausted. What she wanted more than anything in that moment was to find herself back in her chambers at the Jedi temple. Or at least somewhere warm, she thought, as another breeze cut through her robes and the thin cloth of her tunic. But they couldn’t stay at their precarious perches. Taking a deep breath, Xela carefully reached back and waved the other women forward, as she began to edge painstakingly along the gutter. There had to be a ladder or a trellis of some kind that they could use to get back to the streets, and then… She didn’t know what would come next, but she told herself that getting back to the ground was a good start.

Creeping around the rim of the building felt like it took far longer than it probably did. Wedging her feet into the gutter with every pace and ignoring the way it pinched her feet, and she focused on making each step precise while leaning heavily into the dome. Her robes were like sails in the errant breezes that gusted up from the streets, and it sometimes felt as though they would tug her over the edge with their volume. But by some miracle, none of them lost their footing, and it was with great relief that Xela spotted the thin shadows of an iron ladder protruding just above the rim of the dome. She was a little less careful shuffling the last distance, but only stumbled once when making the final stretch to wrap her numb hand around the first rung.

Luckily, their descent was much less perilous than their ascent, and the ladder led down to a flat-topped roof covered with a bed of gravel. From there, Ignae spotted an industrial spiral staircase that wound down into a quiet courtyard, long abandoned by night revelers. Although there were wrought-iron gates guarding both the entrance and the exit to the staircase, Jesa helped them bypass them easily, and Xela was too exhausted to complain. Upon reaching the cobblestoned yard, she wearily turned and waited as Jesa locked the gate behind them, struggling to resist the urge to collapse to the ground right then and there. Rousing herself from a growing stupor, she moved to the arched entrance of the courtyard and glanced out into the street. It seemed to be residential, and was blissfully empty. Tugging her hood back over her face, Xela followed Zita, Ignae and Jesa back into the night, and the four women were soon swallowed by the shadows.


	7. Missing

The ragtag group continued on in the darkness. Zita adamantly refused to return to Jokka’s apartment, citing again her promise to only stay with him for a single night. Instead, they made their way to the outskirts of the city, where shady figures were gathering outside bars and near alleys.

“You know, for someone so concerned with integrity that she won’t let us stay in Jokka’s _perfectly safe_ house for _one more night_ , how do you know about places like this?” Ignae said, peering at the rusted enamel and peeling paint of the door they were squeezing through.

“No one ever said Madame Gaska wasn’t trustworthy. She’d sell her own mother before betraying someone to whom she’s guaranteed sanctuary. For the right price, of course,” replied Zita, stepping into a dingy foyer. But Xela couldn’t help but agree with Ignae; she had no idea how Zita had found this particular inn-- if the dubious establishment could even be called that. The room was sparsely furnished, with a single rickety receptionist’s desk set into the wall and scraps of red cloth dangling thickly from the ceiling, bathing the room in a fluttering, deep red light. Behind the desk buzzed a rattling old fan and a flickering holoscreen, playing late-night transmissions that were unwatched by the wizened old woman snoring at her post.

Although Xela thought that even Zita looked weary from their recent escape, the trader was unperturbed as she approached the desk and pressed a red button set into the wood. A tinny buzzer sounded from a speaker by the woman’s ear and she started awake, blinking owlishly at the visitors. “We’d like one room, please,” said Zita, “and no questions asked.” The woman grinned sleepily, her lips stretching over browning teeth.

“Easily done dearies. You have a credit chip, I assume?” Zita nodded. “Well too bad, it’s cash only here,” the woman cackled, her voice high and creaking. “That’s what you get for waking a little old woman from her nap.” Zita sighed, exasperated, before digging into the pockets of her jacket. The other three women followed suit, and between them, they were soon passing a handful of credits to the mildewed woman.

"Where’d you even get those credits?” Xela heard Zita mutter to Ignae, whose coins glittered with a startlingly iridescent sheen as the woman palmed them.

“Beats me,” shrugged the redhead. “I travelled a lot before coming here, I have no idea where those came from.” The trader frowned, but she accepted Ignae’s explanation as the woman handed them a flimsy plastic room key and gestured towards a narrow set of stairs in the corner of the room.

“Enjoy your stay,” she crooned as her head fell back onto the desk. Xela was willing to bet that she was asleep before they even finished exiting the room.

Although their last quarters had hardly been luxurious, they were a far cry from the room the group now found themselves in. They again slept on pallets, but this time the mattresses were barely better than the floor, the walls were covered with discolored splotches, and there was a persistent dripping noise that Xela couldn’t identify, no matter where she turned. But this didn’t stop her from collapsing on the first available surface she could find and curling into a tight ball. She barely heard the other women’s murmurs before the light went out, and she fell into a deep sleep.

Or, perhaps not so deep-- somewhere between whirling dreams of darkness and realizing she’d shown up to the Trials without her lightsaber, she found herself blearily tossing and turning in bed. She wasn’t sure at what exact time she rolled over and saw a figure moving in the half-light before dawn, but Xela squinted in the sudden light as the door to their room opened with a subtle creak. Between her lashes, she could see Jesa slip out into the hallway, her face unreadable. A twinge of unease rippled in her stomach, but Xela’s eyes refused to stay open as the door shut again. All she knew was that when she next woke to the proper light of day, Jesa was gone.

 

* * *

 

Xela felt as though a tenacious itch filled her body that morning, exacerbating the lingering aches in her muscles from the night before and driving her to pace up and down the length of their cramped bedroom. As the sun grew hotter in the sky, the air became stuffy and sweltering in their little room, and sweat began to trace down their backs and stick to their clothing. But Zita, already dismayed that one of them was exposed somewhere in the city, argued that they needed to lay low until the renewed interest in their capture abated. It was true that whenever one of them began to lazily browse incoming transmissions, it was never long before the image that the surveillance droid had captured the night before flashed before their eyes, displaying their startled faces in harsh, grainy lighting. Xela dragged a hand through her hair whenever the picture resurfaced, irritated anew to see herself sprawled on the floor, gazing slack-jawed into the camera. She had always hated seeing herself in pictures, never mind ones that demanded she be brought in for questioning should she be sighted.

Although she knew that Ignae and Zita were chafing as much as she under their self-imposed confinement, Xela also knew that she was handling it far less gracefully than they. While Xela prowled from their window to their door for the hundredth time, Ignae scrolled through her holoscreen, retouching images she had taken the first day she and Xela had met in Theed. Zita, meanwhile, sat comfortably on her mattress, typing something on her own holoscreen-- Journal entries, she said, or messages to clients. Sometimes the quiet tension felt so stifling that Xela thought she might scream, just to break the tedium. She tried to meditate, but all too often when she closed her eyes and slowed her breaths, all she could think of was Jesa’s face as she shut the door. The Gray Jedi was reckless, arrogant, and just so-- _cold_. Maddeningly so. It was worse that Xela would have found Jesa’s sangfroid admirable, if it didn’t infuriate her with how distant and imperious it made the Gray Jedi seem. As Xela rose again to pace back up the room, she bitterly wondered where the woman could have gone in this giant fragging city. It was selfish and, and cruel-- yes, why not cruel-- to abandon them in this room while she gallivanted around the city, the Force alone knew for what purpose.

The fact that Jesa still hadn’t given them any hint of her motives for her visit nagged constantly at Xela’s thoughts, like a dog stubbornly worrying at a ragged bone. She couldn’t let go of the feeling that Jesa was here for something sinister, and the more she thought about it, the more convinced she became. After all, Jesa hadn’t exactly proven herself reliable. They wouldn’t have been caught by the droid at all if Jesa hadn’t sent them down the hall so quickly-- plus they had all been trapped in that alleyway because of Jesa’s directions. It’s like she was _trying_ to get them caught, but oh wasn’t she clever about it, disguising each slip as an innocent mistake. And now she had left them, perhaps knowing that they wouldn’t risk following her after their run-in last night and trusting the misuse of her powers to protect her. Xela gnawed her lip as she thought about Jesa loose somewhere in the city, indiscriminantly using the Force for her own ends…

But every time she brought up her suspicions to Ignae and Zita, Zita never even dignified her with a response, merely glancing up from her holoscreen with a cynical eyebrow. And Ignae usually replied with her own, albeit more gentle, doubts.

“Come on Xela,” she said after the fourth time Xela mentioned her speculations, “I know she’s been a bit more closed-off, but she’s still one of us-- she helped us get into the library, didn’t she? And find you when you were lost.” Xela paused her pacing at the reminder of her initial flight, grinding a toe into the floor.

"Look, I don’t like that she left without saying a word to any of us either, but what’s done is done. That doesn’t change the fact that even if she wasn’t into the whole ‘all for one and one for all’ mindset, it’s still in her best interests to stick with us until we’ve all been cleared,” added Zita, setting aside her holoscreen to stretch her back. “It’s only logical, and doubting her is tainting what little good group dynamic we have,” she finished, with a severe look at Xela.

"Fine, but then where is she?” asked Xela, wheeling around to lean against the window. “If it’s so logical and good for her to help us, then why isn’t she here helping us? It doesn’t make sense, it’s not natural-- everything about her isn’t natural,” she grumbled, leaning her elbows on the dilapidated windowpane.

“You’re going a bit far, don’t you think?” said Ignae from her bed, her voice carrying skeptically from where she lay. “She may be unorthodox from the Jedi perspective, but that can’t be all bad, can it? Not all those who are Force-sensitive become Jedi, anyways, right? The Force just manifests itself in different ways for each person, so that we can follow our own path-- ‘Course, I’m bowing to you as an expert in that sector.”

“We’ve had peace and prosperity for ages because of the traditional influence of the Jedi. What’s the point of deviating from that?” Xela said, peering down through the glass. Unless it’s on purpose, she thought, and one didn’t _want_ peace and prosperity in the galaxy.

It had been a long time since the Jedi had warned the younglings about the Dark Side of the Force, and the insidious Sith who followed it-- not to mention the various cults who had sprung up around them. Xela remembered lying awake at night the first time she’d heard about them from Master Yoda. It had chilled her to think of the old legends, full of hatred and suffering, populated by people who didn’t care about anything except what they wanted. And if they couldn’t have it, then watching it burn was the next best thing. For a few weeks after that lesson, she had dreamt about the Dark Side as a pale hand that would reach from beneath her bed to drag her away. Then she would wake with her heart beating painfully in her chest and sweat dampening her sheets, alone among the sounds of peaceful sleep.

But in all the legends, a detail she remembered was that the Sith were supposed to have been irrationally, dangerously passionate, without any thought to how their emotions drove them to extremes. The idea had first come to her as they were walking to Yram Hall, just a shadow of a whisper in her consciousness. Now, Xela recalled again the unbridled emotion radiating from Jesa when she declared that she wasn’t a Jedi, turning the memory over in her mind.

“That’s true,” Ignae said, her voice sounding contemplative and distant as it pierced the smog of Xela’s thoughts to reach her ear. “But it’s a big galaxy. Couldn’t you just give Jesa a chance?” she said, her voice wheedling. “Even if you don’t want to trust her, trust me.” Xela turned away from the window to see Ignae looking at her upside-down from her bed, her neck craned back so that she could see the Padawan from where she lay. “I’m usually a pretty good judge of character, and I’ve got a good feeling about her,” the traveller grinned, her smile infectious. Xela felt the corners of her mouth tip up, and she sighed.

“Fine, fine, I’ll try.” If what you mean by ‘try’ is giving her one more chance to explain herself, she added silently.

“Good,” Ignae nodded, going back to her holoscreen. “Hey, do you think Madame Gaska’s got a game of dejarik she would let us borrow?”

Hours passed, the shadows bleeding and stretching across their floor as the day marched on. Only once did Ignae and Xela leave the room to slip across the street and purchase some milk and dehydrated bread from the grocery, abiding by Zita’s reminder not to buy anything that would get them carded. Otherwise, they made orbits in their limited galaxy, crossing with each other as they slept, stretched, and whiled away the hours with card games and muted conversation. As the sun began to sink towards the city’s domes, Xela completed one more length of their room before returning to the window, surprised that a groove had not yet developed in the wood where her feet had passed. Looking down at the sparse passerby below them, she suddenly gasped as she saw a familiar-looking hood bobbing towards them up the seedy street.

She barely paused to wrench open the door to their room before plunging down the stairs, her footsteps rattling against the wood. Behind her, she just caught Ignae’s voice.

“Xela! What’d you see?” Then Zita’s vexed voice followed.

“Oh stars, she’s doing it again…”

But Xela didn’t stay behind to hear the rest of whatever Zita thought of what she did. She darted across the threadbare carpet in the foyer and out into the street, Madame Gaska’s dry “Good luck dearie”, cutting off sharply as the door swung shut behind her. At that point, Jesa had almost reached the inn’s entrance, and seemed taken aback at Xela’s abrupt appearance.

“Xela? What--?” she began, before Xela snagged the other woman by the collar of her robes and dragged her, stumbling, across the street. They landed in a small space between a bar and the sagging grocery, the smell of day-old meilooruns and fish hanging around them in a putrid haze. Xela pulled Jesa forward and swung the woman into the wall, causing her back to collide against the frame of the bar’s warped glass windows. Then Xela planted her hands on her hips, and summoned the steeliest look she could muster.

“ _Where have you been?_ ” Xela hissed, every word deliberate as she tried to ignore Jesa’s startled gasp, a feeble attempt to drag air back into her lungs.

“What are you talking about? What was that for?” Jesa wheezed, her dark eyes watering and affronted.

“You heard me,” Xela said, straightening her back. “Did you think we wouldn’t notice if you just disappeared in the middle of the night?” The Gray Jedi seemed to hesitate a minute, glancing around Xela’s back at the prying eyes that watched them from every crevice.

“Actually, it was early morning. And I just went to the southern end of the city to look for something, is that a crime?” she said peevishly, rolling her freshly bruised shoulders.

“Oh, ‘to look for something’?” scoffed Xela, “Enough with the vague half-answers, I want the truth-- no, thank you!” she snapped at the stout Jablogian who approached from the grocery, holding a bin of fruit. After he quickly withdrew, muttering excuses, Xela turned back to face Jesa. “Don’t lie to me. You may have Zita and Ignae believing that this is all fine, but I KNOW you’re up to something. You’re just like the kinds of force-wielders we were warned about as Younglings.” This gave Jesa a pause, who had been looking at Xela with a deadpan expression.

“Wait-- what do you mean ‘as Younglings--’ You think that _I’ve_ been corrupted by the Dark Side?” Jesa laughed, the sound hollow and humorless. “Are you serious? The way you let your emotions cloud your mind makes you act more like a Sith than anyone! More, because you don’t see it!”

“How dare you?” Xela demanded, outraged. “I’m a Jedi, dedicating my life against the darkness-- “

“And that’s why I’m here!” Jesa finally exploded, her voice barbed and jagged. “Stars, Xela, can’t you feel it? That throbbing behind your eyes, the cold that never seems to leave, even in the sun-- there’s evil here. Evil that needs to be rooted out, and you can’t even tell,” she said, sweeping her fingers over her hair as her voice faded into an incredulous whisper. “You wouldn’t know the influence of the Dark side if it bit you.”

“Obviously not,” said Xela hotly, her voice rising. “Or else I would have sensed it in _you_ from the beginning!”

That’s when she saw a flicker of maroon in the glass of the windows, swimming into clarity. She whipped her head around, glancing first over one shoulder, then the other. Guards-- both ends of the street-- the hotline for their capture-- maybe the grocer called them? But there was no time to think, they were utterly exposed. Xela could feel her breath coming fast, and her limbs were tingling with a rush of adrenaline. She looked back at Jesa, knowing that there was nothing that they could do. The other woman’s eyes were closed, as if she was trying to distance herself from what was about to happen. Then she opened them again, and her face hardened in a sudden shift of light.

“They haven’t seen you yet,” she said, her voice low. “Not your face. Don’t do anything stupid.” She swept her hand to the side in a subtle gesture, and before Xela could react, she grunted as she suddenly tumbled towards the tavern door. Then an unseen force shoved her from behind, and she spilled into the bar, knocking painfully into chairs and tables by the entrance.

Disregarding the bruises she could feel blossoming beneath her skin, Xela scrambled to her feet, ignored save for the most perfunctory of glances by patrons already deep into their cups. Xela threw herself towards the windows, at once trying to peer through the watery glass while also keeping her face hidden in the shadows. Jesa stood where she had left her, her hands up in a mollifying gesture as guards swarmed about her, a spot of gray in a red sea. She was saying something, her face diplomatic as she spoke.The grocer Xela had turned away stood nearby, trying to get a guard’s attention, his sallow face impatient. Xela dared to slip back to the tavern door and open it just a crack, plugging one ear against the hubbub of the drunkards to hear what was being said outside.

“--right in front of me,” said a voice hoarse with smoke, which Xela could only assume belonged to the Jablogian. “Pushed that other girl away, without even touchin’ ‘er. ‘Course, she was rude too, but still, this one ain’t no Jedi; that’s black magic, that is.”

“Thank you Salzorigan, you remain one of our most… _persistent_ tippers,” Xela could just make out a second voice, laced with distaste. “For once it seems your claims were legitimate. Your city honors you.”

“Just doing my civic duty, ma’am,” hacked the first voice, smug. Xela’s fingers tightened around the doorjamb, the skin at her fingertips blanching white. There was a low murmur, she thought it might be Jesa’s voice, but she couldn’t understand what was said.

“You didn’t see any of her companions, did you?” asked the second voice, its tone professional, with any hint of loathing carefully repressed. Jesa’s voice murmured again, this time so low that Xela almost missed it. There was a pause, then the haggard voice spoke, haltingly, as though confused.

“I… No. No, I didn’t see any of the others.”

“Fine. Come on ladies and gentlemen, that’s at least one of them for the books,” announced the second voice, heedless of the grocer’s hesitation. Xela darted back to the window, bobbing and weaving her head to see through the ripples in the glass. Jesa was being lead down the street towards the palace, her hands in front of her. If Xela ran now, perhaps she could pick off the last two guards and pull Jesa away. Maybe break off and lead them away from Zita and Ignae…

Xela did nothing. Even as her mind flipped through a daring rescue, she didn’t move. Jesa was dwindling, her head blocked by red shoulders and helmets, smaller and smaller, then she was gone. Xela remained crouched by the window, her legs clenching in discomfort. She was gone, and Xela’s stomach was twisting itself into knots.

A grinding groan sounded behind her, almost like a wooden chair being dragged across the floor.

“Eh, midget, he said move,” said a gruff voice.

“S-sorry, sorry,” said Xela, dazed. She pulled herself to her feet and sidled away from the window, allowing a Trandoshan and his human companion to slide through the aisle she had blocked. There was so much noise, she suddenly felt disoriented and besieged. The door swung open behind her, pushing her deeper into the bar. She stumbled out of the way as a group entered, trying not to touch anyone. She had the acute feeling that she didn’t belong, and as soon as the crowd settled after the new arrivals, she ducked out the door. Crisp air gusted into her lungs, but it didn’t refresh her. As Xela crossed the street back to Madame Gaska’s, she couldn’t stop looking down the street to where Jesa had vanished, her memories overlaying reality in a slideshow that she didn’t want to watch.

Madame Gaska was gone when Xela reentered the building, but she hardly noticed nor cared as she plodded up the steps. As soon as she opened the door to their room, Zita and Ignae quickly stood from where they had been sitting on their beds.

“Xela! Thank goodness you’re back, by the time we got downstairs the guards were already everywhere, I can’t believe you got away,” said Ignae, her relief sparkling as she spoke. Even Zita smiled, her eyes crinkling around the edges. “So where’s Jesa? You found her, right?” continued Ignae, her voice full of hope as she stood on her toes to peer over Xela’s shoulder.

“I…” Xela began, the door gaping wide and empty behind her. She crossed her arms tightly over her chest. “I lost her.” Ignae’s expression faltered, her blue eyes riddled with confusion.

“What? But how? We saw you together, you were right there.”

“We were! But then the guards came,” said Xela, nudging the accusing door closed behind her and leaning back on it’s sturdy surface. “And then she pushed me away, and then I-- I--”

“And then she left her.” Xela raised her face to look at Zita, the smile gone as quickly as it had come. The gleaming orange of the setting sun framed the trader in a fiery square of light.

“There were so many guards, it happened so fast,” she muttered, pressing her arms tighter into her stomach.

“So you let her go?” said Ignae, her voice pitching higher at the end of her phrase. “She would never have left us, any of us!”

“You don’t know that,” Xela said weakly.

“Xela! You said you’d try,” Ignae said, her recrimination stinging more than Xela would have thought it could.

“Well, maybe she didn’t deserve to have me try!” Xela said, feeling as though words were tripping from her mouth of their own volition. Ignae’s face was shocked, as though Xela had slapped her-- then it fell slowly into resignation. She took a few steps back, shaking her head with a dreamlike slowness.

“I can’t convince you. If this is what all Jedi are like… no wonder Jesa left.” She turned away, and Xela felt a small fracture spiderweb through her stomach. The silence stretched as Ignae went back to her pallet, facing away from the other two. Zita’s face was drawn as she leaned back against a wall. She sighed.

“Look, we didn’t have much going for us from the start. Now we’re a woman down, and if we can’t trust each other to have our backs, maybe we shouldn’t stay together,” she said, sliding back into the protection of her business-woman persona. Xela already missed her smile, before the impact of the trader’s words hit her.

“What?” she cried, her head snapping towards Zita.

“If we split up and can manage to get off-planet, there’s a good chance that we won’t be followed, not individually,” said Zita, shrugging her shoulders. “Judging by how Eugene wasn’t flagged immediately when he arrived, it seems that Naboo’s intergalactic security is pretty lax. Our criminal charges are probably minimal anyways, if we stayed away for a good year or so, it’s likely that we won’t be prosecuted.”

“Except for those of us that already are,” said Ignae in a low voice, still facing away from the other two. Zita quieted, her face downcast.

“Yes,” she murmured, her tone heavy. “Except for that.”

“But it wasn’t _you_ ,” pleaded Xela, “I wouldn’t have let either of _you_ \--”

“No, Xela,” Zita broke in. “No, the thing you need to understand is that there’s no difference between Jesa, Ignae, and me. None.” She pinched the bridge of her nose, her eyes squeezed tightly shut as though she was fighting off a burgeoning headache. Then the fatigue in her face soured as she calculated, settling her weight onto one hip. “I’ll have to renegotiate my shipments with Jokka,” she muttered to herself, already moving on. “I don’t want to come back to this planet any time soon.” She went back to her bed and picked up her holoscreen, swiping rapidly across the surface.

“Me neither,” said Ignae. Xela glanced between them, feeling torn and as though something unnameable was slipping through her fingers, no matter how tightly she grasped at it. Finally, she too sank onto her deflated mattress, keenly feeling the emptiness of the bed to her right. She pulled her legs tightly to her chest, watching as the other two women drifted away from her.

That evening passed in stark comparison to the day before it, with thick silences that prickled along Xela’s skin, as if she was developing a fever. Zita was occupied with her holoscreen, making arrangements and records that Xela had no part in. Ignae lay on her bed, her back facing the room. Even when she got up to prepare to sleep, she wouldn’t look at Xela, and when they finally put out the light, the darkness was utter and complete.


	8. Dreaming

The next two days were nothing short of excruciating. Having discovered one of the deviants in this part of the city, patrols along Madame Gaska’s sector thickened, slowing any travel arrangements they could have made. Xela herself still had no idea where she wanted to go now, all she knew was that she had tickets for a shuttle that would leave next week, and rooms that were still being held for her back at Theed Palace Square. Not that she could actually access them. But after that, whenever she tried to approach thoughts of her immediate future, it was as though she stepped off of a mental drop into a punishing whirlpool, until she felt too strung-out to do anything but sit beneath their window, watching the sun go by. Ignae and Zita always seemed to be busy with preparations of one kind or another, so busy that they never had any time to talk. At least, time to talk to her. Xela could feel it every time she reentered the room from picking up food or taking a walk to stretch her legs, a stunted silence that spoke of the ghost of conversation, cut off by her presence. Zita was always cooly civil to Xela, saying ‘thank you’ whenever she brought them anything and playing along with small talk whenever Xela dared to make it-- but it never lasted long. Ignae was like a shadow, rarely speaking to the Padawan and looking at her even less. The few times Xela felt Ignae’s eyes on her, catching her gaze was worse than bearing the weight of her silence.

For the most part, they left Xela to her solitude, as far as any of them could in their cramped lodgings. Which left her with little to do other than replay Jesa’s capture in her mind, reviewing everything that had lead up to that one moment by the grocery. What Xela still couldn’t fathom is where she had gone wrong. She had thought they were in danger, and then that danger had been removed, without any active participation from her. But every time she tried to view recent events in an objective manner, she stumbled across a roiling obstacle that always crystallized into one particular moment: Jesa, pushing her away into the tavern. Protecting her. Saving her.

It was more than Xela could bear.

Perhaps then, it made sense that her sleep was disturbed during their extra two nights of confinement. But Xela wasn’t prepared for the dreams that entrapped her on the third night, just before Ignae and Zita were slated to leave the next morning.

 

* * *

 

She was in a round chamber, lying on a hard surface beneath harsh fluorescent lighting, angled upward so that the single bulb shone into her eyes.The metal beneath her was cold against her skin, steel rings were wrapped around her wrists and ankles, and there was an iron band across her chest. She couldn’t see far beyond the light glaring into her eyes, but there was a small panel on a stand not far from where she lay, slanting away from her so that it faced the shadows. The air smelled of damp stone and the acrid scent of cleaning solution, and the humidity was making her hair curl.

What she could see of the floor gleamed wetly, as though it had recently been washed-- Xela shifted on the table, but she could hardly move, the edges of the manacles were digging into her skin like dull knives, and she couldn’t get a full breath with the restraining band across her chest.

Somewhere in the darkness, she heard the familiar hiss of an opening door, and she craned her neck to raise her head from the table. The glare from the light above her shafted across her vision, but she could see the outline of a person taking shape as they entered the room. A human stood before her, wearing heavy, ornate robes that were a violent shade of red. His head was gleamingly bald, leaving his protruding ears exposed-- Xela might have laughed, were it not for the expression on the man’s face. His mouth had a determined set to its frown, but as her eyes wandered past a sharp nose and high cheekbones, his eyes were what made her falter. They were large and bulbous, almost distending out of his head, and glittered with a manic intensity.

He approached the circle of light in which she lay and stopped at its edge, just close enough that she could see him. He folded his hands inside the gaping sleeves of his robes and smiled politely.

“Miss--” he paused to peer at the panel, his wide eyes squinting, “Kelrune, I presume?” He did not give Xela a chance to respond before continuing, “A pleasure, I’m sure. Not every prisoner gets to have an audience with me after my dutiful captain.” He leaned toward her conspiratorially, with a smile. “I had to put in quite some effort to avoid my advisors while coming here; no one knows the difficulties of finding personal time as a ruler. But I simply had to speak with you.” Xela struggled to place the man’s face as he leaned back, his smile a touch wider than before. Finally, a vague echo sounded in her memory, a civilization lesson from Master Ki-Adi-Mundi-- her epiphany broke quickly, and she realized that the man was the monarch-elect of Naboo, King Ars Veruna. She started in her restraints, sending aches radiating up her legs and wrists.

“Oh please, don’t try to obey any formalities, I see you’re a little occupied for bowing,” King Veruna said, his voice breathy and wafting as he chuckled at his own joke. It made Xela shiver the same way she did when podships scraped against each other-- the high, grating squeals burrowed under her skin. But nonetheless, she said nothing. Once he was finished with his amusement, the king continued.

“But do pardon me--at the risk of sounding forward, I must ask-- do you find that you frighten people, Miss Kelrune?” Xela looked back at his lazily blinking eyes, not completely sure what she was supposed to say, if anything. “Or perhaps not frighten, but put them on edge? As though there’s something beyond you that doesn’t quite… meet the eye?”

“No, your majesty,” Xela’s mouth said, her voice lower than her own.

“Ah! Now, I expected you to say that,” said King Veruna, freeing his hands from his robes and extending an index finger, his manner professorial. “Although I must admit, you don’t look like much for a practitioner of the dark arts.” Xela felt her head fall back against the headrest behind her. Her chest rose and fell in a deep sigh. “But as soon as I heard the reports of how you were brought in, I knew I had to see you for myself,” the king said, animatedly pacing before her.

“I’m sure I don’t understand what you mean, your Majesty,” said Xela’s mouth again, although she wanted to argue.

“Well, perhaps that doesn’t really matter anyways,” said Veruna, finally daring to step into her circle of light. He walked slowly around her prone form, exiting and reentering her field of vision as he spoke. “What does, is that you _are_ frightening, Miss Kelrune. Truly, deeply frightening-- at least, to the masses of my subjects.

“They know in their hearts that there is something wrong in this city. I feel it as they do, as extensions of myself.” He began to revolve around her again, so close that the hem of his robes brushed her bound feet. “We have suffered increased corruption, criminality, and unemployment. Yet despite my advisor’s best efforts, they can’t tell me _why_ it’s happening. So my people must flounder as I do, struggling to make ends meet in a sickening city.

“And then they see someone like you. Someone with inexplicable powers that only a Jedi should have-- which you are not-- so why should they not wonder what exactly you are?

“Now I get to my real point, Miss Kelrune, and I thank you for bearing with me. If you are a part of what plagues us, if you have even the tiniest idea of what threatens my city-- Well. Your cooperation would be invaluable, to the both of us.” Xela felt her chest press against its bindings in a deep breath, air whistling in her lungs. Politicians. Did it really have to take him that long to ask her for information?

“I wish I could help you, your Majesty, I do. But your knowledge equals mine in this matter,” said the familiar voice that was not hers. She heard the sounds of his footsteps stop, then his voice came once more, from directly behind her.

“Pity,” muttered King Veruna, his tone flat, the breathy affect gone. There was a pause, and then he said, “Have you ever heard of the mob mentality, Miss Kelrune?” His voice had become soft, intellectual.

“Yes,” she said, but the king paid her no heed.

“It’s the might behind every throne, every seat of government-- rude, unrefined, but powerful. Strong enough to raise a king-- or unseat him.

“But what the mob gains in power, it lacks in perspective. It knows when it’s threatened, even if it doesn’t know exactly by whom or from where the threat comes. Sound familiar?” He paused again, suddenly appearing before her eyes as he completed his second circle around the table. “That’s where my role lies,” he said, turning to face her.

“I direct the mob’s energy, guide the people’s passion; I protect them, even from themselves.

“You know, of course, of how a nexu will gnaw at it’s own leg when it lacks another outlet for it’s violence, do you not? That’s what I prevent, don’t you see Miss Kelrune? Otherwise, these people-- they would destroy themselves.” He was leaning close to Xela’s face now, breaching every personal boundary that she knew. He smelled like mint, overlaying a bitter tang of onions and sweat. Then he straightened abruptly, pulling away. “But it only works if my loyal, rabid subjects truly _believe_ that I can protect them. That I am worthy of their power, their very _souls_.

“So you understand, why I would do anything to maintain that trust, coarse as it is,” King Veruna walked slowly to the control panel, sitting just outside the bright pool of light that Xela was bathed in. His finger hovered over it, over some button or lever she could not see. Xela tensed, straining against the manacles on her wrists, her ankles, her torso-- “I must show them that I can do this. I _must_ ,” he murmured, more to himself than to her. Xela struggled to see his face, stark and shining from the angle at which she lay. “And you’re going to help me.”

Then he pressed the button.

And Xela screamed. Screamed gutturally, without end, in the walls of her head as bolts of electricity rippled through her, though no sound escaped her lips. Her jaws clacked shut and her muscles spasmed, writhing together as if that could somehow save them from the burning, stabbing sensation beneath her skin. Her back arched, and pain was her world, her life, all that was-- and then it was gone.

It could hardly have been more than a few seconds.

Xela was gasping, she couldn’t move, her body was trembling sporadically, short-circuited.

“Now, let’s try again, Miss Kelrune.”


	9. Seeking a Gray Jedi for Fun and Profit

Xela bolted upright, sweat dripping from her brow, heart pounding. She jumped when the overhead light suddenly illuminated, and she glanced wildly about to see Zita and Ignae staring at her, wide-eyed, with Zita’s hand on the light switch.

“Stars Xela, what happened?” exclaimed Ignae, her voice shaking. “You started thrashing and screaming. Are you okay?”

Xela shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. But she could still hear the king’s voice, grating like a knife against her skin-- and worse, she could still feel the electricity racing through her body. Shivering, she wrapped her arms tightly around her knees and raised her eyes to Ignae’s.

“I, uh- I had a dream. A bad dream…” Her voice shook, and she trailed off, trying to gather herself. “Do either of you happen to know Jesa’s last name?” she asked, her voice dropping to a whisper.

Because now that she was awake, Xela had finally figured out to whom the familiar voice in the dream belonged. Jesa was the least talkative of their group, but Xela had argued with her enough to be certain that it was her that the king was speaking to. And if it was Jesa’s voice, then it was Jesa’s body, Jesa’s pain…

No. Xela shook her head. The king of a planet like Naboo couldn’t torture anyone, could he? Then again, he was the king. And unless, like he said, he needed a scapegoat for-

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sounds of Zita typing on her holoscreen. “I’m looking for news of recent arrests. They should be public record- ah, here we go. Looks like her full name is Jesa Kelrune. Why? What does that have to do with your nightmare?” Zita tilted her head inquisitively.

Xela felt the prickle of tears forming in the edge of her eyes, her chest caving in as though she’d been punched. “I- I think the Force sent me a vision. I was trapped in a cell, strapped to a table. The King of Naboo was there, he was talking so much, kept saying the name ‘Kelrune’,” Xela stopped, feeling her words run together. “The point is, I was inside Jesa’s mind. I could feel her fear, her pain-”

“Her _pain_?” asked Ignae.

Xela lowered her eyes and started picking at a loose thread on her tunic. “It seems that the king had the same, um, extreme opinions as I did about Jesa and her possible affiliations to the Dark Side… he was torturing her for information.” She took a rattling breath before continuing. “And I don’t think Jesa knows anything. And he knows it, too. It seems like he’s hurting her just to make the point that he can.” Her voice caught on the last syllable, and she tucked her chin even tighter against her chest. There was a moment of stunned silence as Ignae and Zita absorbed this new information, and Xela knew that they were trying to put themselves into that grim little chamber along with Jesa. She knew, because she felt as though was still there too.

“We have to go get her.” Ignae’s voice was lined with steel, and the determined set of her face brooked no room for argumentation. When Xela looked up from her clasped knees, Ignae was already standing by her bed, prepared to dash out into the night to find their friend.

“What? Ignae, you can’t be serious,” said Zita from her bed. Ignae wheeled on her.

“I’ve never been more serious in my life. Did you not hear that she was being _tortured_ ? Because of _us_? I don’t care what you say, but we can’t abandon her,” the unsaid ‘again’ whispered in the air between them before Zita snapped back.

“No, of course I know that we can’t just leave Jesa like this-- but we can’t run out at this time of night either and _hope_ we’ll happen to stumble upon her. No, we need a plan, we need to know where she is, and who has the influence to get her out of whatever bureaucratic deadlock they have her in.” Her tone was biting as her eyes narrowed with distaste. “We don’t even know where to begin. Is she in the palace itself? The city holding cells? Or what?”

“We don’t have _time_ for a carefully formulated strategy, who knows how long that crazy king plans on playing games with her?” Ignae said. But she knew Zita was right, and she sat back on her bed, still simmering.

“I know!” barked Zita, “Believe me, I know,” she said again, her voice softer than before. She sighed, her hands folded into a white-knuckled knot on top of her legs. “This whole thing is far more serious than we thought, especially if the King himself is involved. That’s got to be in violation of at least ten of Naboo’s laws, maybe more-- and we’re still fugitives. But we need some kind of starting place, or else we won’t be able to help anyone.” During this entire exchange, Xela had been reticent, curled into a defensive ball among her clammy sheets. But finally, she broke her silence.

“I can find her,” she said. Her voice was hardly more than a haggard whisper on the first try, she had to clear her throat before speaking again. “I can find her.” This gave the other two a pause, and both women turned to look at the Padawan.

“Are you sure?” asked Zita, her tone cautious. Xela nodded.

“I can do the same thing she did when you found me, in the gazebo. I know I can, I just need some time. I know we don’t have a lot of it,” she conceded, slowly unwinding her death grip on her own legs. Zita nodded, already taking Xela’s contribution in stride; Xela could practically see the gears of the woman’s mind turning behind her eyes.

“Good, then do what you need to do,” Zita said brusquely, “While we figure out how one goes about springing a woman from jail,” she said, shooting a wry look at Ignae. Ignae nodded and scooted over from her bed to Zita’s side, so that they could both peer down at the trader’s holoscreen, already flickering with movement from her fingers. Xela let out a shuddering breath and repositioned herself on her bed, kicking her blankets out of the way. She sat with her legs folded beneath her and settled her hands loosely on top of her knees, straightening her back and feeling her shoulders still into a relaxed position. The last thing she saw before she closed her eyes was a swift look from Ignae, nothing more than a glance-- but it was paired with a ghost of a smile that stayed with Xela as she let herself go.

 

* * *

 

For a few minutes, all that Xela could hear was the tapping of Zita’s fingers on the screen, and the low murmur of her friends’ voices. The serenity that usually came to her during meditation resisted her at first, skittering away in favor of memories of Jesa’s pained groans. But she kept breathing, feeling the ebb and flow of the Force as it pooled and rippled around the three of them in their cramped room. Almost imperceptibly, a rhythm found her. Xela extended her awareness, following the energy around the other tenants of the building, all the way down the rickety stairs to where Madame Gaska snoozed at the desk. She cast herself out into the city, feeling for the erratic waves that would accompany Jesa’s suffering, looking for the Gray Jedi’s familiar presence. Had she been in her right mind, she might have wondered when she became accustomed to Jesa’s grating company in the first place.

Xela couldn’t have said how long she stayed in that state, drifting somewhere between the tangible and the unconscious, bodiless among the energy of Theed, but at some point she was standing back in the rounded chamber, in the shadows at the edge of the room. In the logic of dreams, it was both as if she had always been there, and yet only now blinked to find herself returned to the place.

But none of that mattered, instead Xela was rushing to the table sitting at the center of the room. She ducked around the back of it to see Jesa sagging in her restraints. Her head was lolling against one of her shoulders, and strands of hair that had come loose from her ponytail were dangling around her face, sticking to the woman’s wan skin. Xela hissed to see black scorch marks writhing along Jesa’s hands, and was just reaching out to soothe them when the door slid open with a hiss behind her.

Xela whipped her head around and stumbled back into the shadows, her heart pounding wildly before she remembered that she wasn't actually there. Breathing deeply, she crept back up to stand near Jesa, regarding the newcomer. She couldn't see any details of their face, as they had wrapped themselves in an inky black cloak, and a deep hood concealed their features in shadow. At most, all Xela could see was occasional flashes of red from the cloak’s front slit--the king had returned.Beside her, Jesa stirred, the newcomer’s presence awakening her. Her eyes fluttered open slowly, but she jolted backwards in her restraints upon seeing the dark figure before her.

A low laugh wound its way to their ears, and the figure took a step closer. A quiet voice drifted up from the depths of the hood, like a trail of cloying smoke.

“Hello, my dear,” came a silky whisper. “I hope your stay with us has been… pleasant.” Not the king, then. It was a man, Xela decided, based on his voice. Though curiously, it was neither the king nor even the captain- who else knew about Jesa down in a pit like this?

The figure took yet another step towards the Gray Jedi, and Jesa shivered against her bonds. Xela felt the terror rising in her companion, and something else-- it pulsed in the room, like a headache that was building just behind her eyes. Xela knew that she wasn’t really there, but still, as Jesa was taken by another violent bout of chills, Xela couldn’t repress the shudders that raced up her own spine. It felt as though her bones were frostbitten, and with every throbbing pulsation in her skull, horrible emotions were rising from her stomach to her chest. Anxiety-- Disgust-- and a stomach-churning rage that Xela hadn’t known she possessed. She’d never felt anything so potent, not in all of her frustration towards Jesa, never during her lowest moments of Jedi training. All of those feelings were pale imitations of the emotion that was now causing her hands to shake. She felt as though she was being disemboweled, hollowed out by every fleeting annoyance and lingering bitterness she’d ever experienced.  

A faint throbbing-- was that what had Jesa said? ‘There’s evil here,’ yes, that was it. Xela had never thought of herself as evil, or even cruel. But this… maybe this was what it felt like. It was all the more unsettling because evil did not feel like something that belonged in their time; in every other mission Xela had been on with her master, it had turned out that the perpetrators were too complicated to be called ‘evil’. It was why such emotions, and the Sith themselves, mostly existed in urban legend-- Yet now, Xela couldn’t help but wonder: Was it possible that the Dark Side that Xela had feared so much as a child was actually alive and well, more than a monster beneath her bed? And more so, was she feeling it in the man standing right in front of her?

The hooded figure tilted his head quizzically, examining the captive in front of him like someone reading a placard in a museum. “So, what’s your story, girl?” He began, with no other preamble. “You show up on this planet, adamant that you’re not a Jedi, but then claim that you’re no Sith. You wreak havoc in the streets with a band of miscreants, but sacrifice yourself for a Padawan who has done nothing but cut you down since you met. I must ask-- what exactly motivates you, that you should behave in such a contradictory manner?” At Jesa’s silence, he continued, still sounding only mildly interested in the entire conversation.

“As far as prisoners go, it’s quite a fascinating change after the tedium of greed and desperation from your common, petty smugglers.” He began pacing in front of her, not from impatience, but rather as a show of control. Jesa still said nothing, her eyes shining with an emotion that Xela couldn’t place. But she knew that she, at least, was shaken by the amount of knowledge that the man possessed. How could he possibly know about everything they’d done, the most private conversations they’d had, hidden from the entire city? Oblivious to Xela’s shock, the man continued speaking.

“I know the king’s mind, child; I know that his _persuasion_ had little effect in getting you to confess anything. But do not make the mistake of thinking that he and I are of the same breed.” He stopped before Jesa, and Xela could catch a glimpse of shining white teeth underneath the man’s cowl; he was wearing a disembodied smile that was all the more eerie for it’s lack of other features.

“I see your mind, I know that you do not affiliate yourself with the Dark Side. I can feel it in your soul, you lack the conviction to take what should be yours… For now.

“But no one has believed you yet, have they? No matter how you defend yourself, they accuse you again and again...” his whispering voice trailed off and he let his words hang in the air between them.

Xela tried to see Jesa’s face around the edge of the table, to gauge her reaction. Her own feelings were much more raw; she despised how the man seemed to be both taunting Jesa while also offering solace, as if no one else could understand her, of how she’d suffered at the hands of the king. She hated how he was playing with Jesa’s emotions like a puppet on a string, treating her like she was some kind of pitiful victim, alone in the world save for him. He had no idea who he was dealing with, Xela fumed.

Meanwhile, the Gray Jedi squirmed again, clearly struggling to get away from the nauseating man before her. Her face was struggling to keep its passive demeanor, and although her stoic expression didn’t change, her eyes were wide and her lips were trembling, as though she was doing her best to hold in a scream.

“Ah,” said the man, delighted as if he had suddenly discovered a credit in his pocket that he had forgotten about. “Oh, but my dear, do you not accuse yourself too?” Xela halted in her fretting, turning to look at Jesa’s profile in surprise. “In the darkest hours of the night, do you not think that perhaps the council was glad to be rid of you, that everyone you pass in the streets--” He paused, enjoying the delicious tension. “Well, they don’t just misunderstand you and your path-- No, my dear, they truly do hate you. They hate everything that you stand for, everything you believe-- and for good reason. Because, deep down in your heart,” the man leaned closer to Jesa, looming large in Xela’s vision as the light above them dimmed. “You know that you didn’t leave the Jedi for any kind of principles.

“You left because you weren’t satisfied. It was never enough for you, what the Jedi promised-- but you know what would be.” Xela wanted to tuck the table between herself and the man, to hide herself from his growing shadow, though he never moved from where he stood. But she stubbornly clutched the side of the table, digging her fingers into the cloth of Jesa’s overcoat; and just as she had in the tavern, she did not move.

“Did you think that by convincing that Padawan your path was legitimate, you would be free? That you could finally rest easy, knowing that your motives were _pure_?” The man’s gleeful tone emphasized the last word snidely, his mocking evident. “Then don’t forget, my dear, don’t ever forget-- that when the time came, she let you go.

“She let you be taken alone, because she will never, ever believe in you.” If Xela hadn’t been holding the table, she might have staggered to the floor.

“Oh, the others’ might have been open to you-- once,” continued the man, his tone, which had previously been so vehement, now conversational and composed. “But consider-- the Padawan has had their complete attention for three days. Do you think, for one moment, that she has not been endearing herself to them, persuading them, as sweetly as she can? By now, they know that they do not need you. In fact, they already know that somehow, they feel cleaner, lighter, without your presence.

“No, my dear. You are alone.”

Xela was shaking her head mutely, she couldn’t stop. She was a futile denial, a ghost in the middle of an empty purgatory. She turned desperately to look at Jesa, wanting to scream at her not to listen, not to believe him--

Jesa was trembling on the table, like a leaf caught in the breeze. Her face was stricken and her eyes gleamed like glass, tears encased within them. Xela could feel her pushing back against his words, but the slumping figure before her appeared to be losing the fight.

“No,” Jesa whispered, her voice feeble and broken. “No. I believe in, in balance, in the middle path. The others-- they wouldn’t hate-- they couldn’t hate anything like that. Even Xela, she wouldn’t,” Xela couldn’t look away from Jesa’s face, she was transfixed. There was a swooping feeling in her chest, like something buoying her up. Jesa swallowed thickly. “No matter what she says… All of them…No matter how they fight,” Jesa made a sound that might have been a laugh. Now it just sounded like a strangled gurgle. “They care. So. Much.

“People who care like they do… they’ll never be as horrible as you make them out to be.” Speaking seemed to be costing Jesa a great effort, her voice was getting weaker, fading into little more than a mumble.

“If they cared, don’t you think they would have found you by now? That they would at least have tried?” said the man, his voice consoling. Jesa’s head fell back against the table, her face the picture of misery. As his words sank in, one lone tear escaped from the corner of her eye, tumbling down to the cold, unforgiving metal of the table beneath her. Xela could feel the Gray Jedi’s energy shift, it was waning into her, fading and twisting into something new. She thought she could detect a single pulse of pain behind her eyes, a sudden chill, emanating from-- her heart seized-- from Jesa.

_No._

Xela knew she didn’t exist. She was not standing at Jesa’s side. She was far away, somewhere in the bowels of the city, sitting in a room that may as well have been on another planet. But she reached out anyways, grasping the Gray Jedi’s shoulder, and let her heart swell with everything she could remember since Jesa was taken. Her guilt. Zita and Ignae’s shock. Their isolation, alone together, without Jesa. And finally, their determination, unified and absolute, after Xela’s dream-- they were going to find her. They were coming.

Jesa’s expression changed, her brow furrowing in confusion. She lifted her head from the table as a bit of color breathed back into her cheeks. Her energy steadied. She was still shaking, but her gaze was steadfast as she leveled her eyes at the hooded figure.

“No.

“I don’t believe you. You’re wrong about them, and you’re wrong about me.” She raised her chin, defiance creeping into the shape of her shoulders. “No matter what you do, or what you say, you’ll never convince me otherwise.”

The man was silent for the first time that night. His head tilted almost imperceptibly in the direction of Xela’s presence, then he sighed softly.

“Very well,” he said, his voice returning to its sickening silkiness. “You are weak, and I have no further use for you.” Then his tone turned sour. “However, we would still love to find your _friends_. You’re all criminals, after all, and I’m sure they would do wonders to ease his Majesty’s mind.”

With a sweeping gesture, he raised his arm until his hand was mere inches from Jesa’s face, his withered, pale fingers curling into the form of a claw. “Tell me,” he said, his voice tight and tinged with just a hint of a snarl, “where your companions are.”

Although it might have looked as though nothing passed between the hooded man and the entrapped woman, the effect on Jesa was immediate. She stiffened, and her pupils dilated until her iris’ were like chestnut slivers around gaping black holes. Xela, meanwhile, though still connected to Jesa through the grip on her shoulder, could only feel an echo of what the man was forcing into Jesa’s mind. It was almost as if he was directing all of his energy at the Gray Jedi on purpose, as if he suspected that they weren’t alone-- as if he wanted to make sure whoever might be observing them was lucid enough to watch. Nevertheless, the echo alone was enough to send Xela reeling-- the stranger was boring points of searing, hot pain into every corner of the Gray Jedi’s mind. He searched for information and compliance, but struck with a surgical precision, meant solely to torment. Jesa gasped as the muscles in her neck sprang taught against her skin-- her hands balled into fists and her teeth sank into her lip until it bled. A pleading glint glittered in her eyes, but Xela knew that she would rather break than beg him for anything. Yet she could feel the desperation in Jesa nonetheless, swelling up in a dismal flood.

“Stop it,” Jesa said, choked and trembling with the effort of speaking. The man said nothing, but Xela could envision a thin-lipped smile on his face beneath the hood. “I said, STOP IT,” Jesa cried out, her voice rising into a husky yell. The Gray Jedi groaned deep in her chest, her head banging against the table as she tried to lift it, and failed. But maybe the pain awaked something visceral in her, and Jesa closed her eyes in sudden concentration. The clawed hand in front of her face faltered, dipping as if a weight had been hung from its wrist. Sweat began to bead across Jesa’s forehead, but her face was calmer than before, and wearing an expression more like the one that Xela had become used to seeing over the past few days-- still and watchful, but as solid as the hull of a star cruiser. The hand twitched, it’s fingers fluttering as if stricken by a palsy. A hiss slid out of the hood, like a snake unwinding from it’s hole--

“Not today, girl.” The man’s hand spasmed into a fist, and Jesa cried out, her face twisting into something between concentration and pain. Xela doubled over, almost losing her grip on Jesa’s shoulder. She felt as though a spike was being driven into the center of her head, pounded mercilessly and with a clumsy hand. Jesa shuddered on the table, her hands flexing against nothing as she gasped, she looked as though she had just run 10 miles across the wastes of Tatooine, her face flushed and her clothes drenched in sweat. The hand jerked upwards, as if it could physically push against her mind, trembling violently.

Xela felt blind from the ache in her head, she had no idea what Jesa could be feeling, how she could possibly do anything other than endure, if not give up entirely-- then Jesa groaned again, a low gasp-- “No!”-- just as a wheezing cackle hacked it’s way from beneath the hood. The man lowered his hand, it trembled no more. The only sign that he had shown any exertion at all was how he stepped back from his prisoner, with a faint lethargy that had previously been absent. Jesa went limp on the table, utterly spent. Xela could barely feel her shoulder’s rise and fall beneath her hand.

“Jesa?” she said, trying to stem the panic that was flooding through her. Something in her wilted, knowing that Jesa couldn’t hear her-- but part of her couldn’t help but wish for an answer anyways.

“Madame Gaska’s,” muttered the man, turning away from Jesa’s unconscious form. It was as though she had become a piece of furniture, a crate someone had left on the table. “Of course, the king really should have smoked out that rathole long ago. I’ll mention it to him, at the next meeting… Better yet, maybe that whole sector needs to be razed. Remodeled, of course, he’ll listen to that-- housing projects, maybe--” He continued to mutter to himself as he left the room, keeping his own company as naturally as he had interrogated the Gray Jedi, his voice thoughtful and lilting when the door closed upon it.

The lights went out in the torture room not long after, as nobody thought prisoners needed to be defended from the dark. Xela stood, rooted to Jesa’s side, basking guiltily in the absence of pain. Jesa herself still wasn’t moving; Xela had no idea how much the encounter had taxed her. Could mental torture like that cause permanent damage? Oh why oh why hadn’t Master Ki-Adi-Mundi mentioned the effects of force interrogations? Had he when she wasn’t paying attention? Xela didn’t know, and the thought startled her into action.

As much as she wanted to stay with Jesa, Xela told herself that the best thing she could do now was find out where she was being kept. Xela let her hand drop from the woman’s shoulder, her skin felt cold with the absence. She faced herself roughly towards where she thought the hooded man had disappeared, and walked towards it with her hands outstretched. She collided with nothing, and soon her hands found the smooth, plated texture of the door. At first Xela was stymied, she couldn’t open it. But no sooner had the thought flit across her mind, then she suddenly fell forward, slamming down onto her palms in a sudden brightness. Squinting into fluorescent lights, Xela found herself on the floor in front of a door, engraved with a silver XXIV. In comparison to the grim chamber she’d just left, these hallways were clean and well-lit, tiled from floor to ceiling in a reflective, black material. The hallway seemed to stretch far away in both directions, lights and doors studding its entire length before bending around some corner and out of sight. Xela couldn't fathom how many prisoners there must have been in that hallway alone-- and she shuddered to think that behind each of those doors there was a room like Jesa’s.

Scrambling to her feet, Xela looked up and down the hall. She didn’t have time to search each direction, nor did she know how long the vision would hold if she tried. So, instead of clinging on to it, she decided to let it go. Closing her eyes and breathing in measured increments, Xela imagined the hallway dissolving away, leaving only the people within the building in her mind’s eye. Their consciousnesses rippled like stones thrown into a pond, the nearest one shivering like a firefly as it moved. Xela drifted towards it, reaching for the stray flickers of energy that radiated off of it, memorizing the distinct way it prickled against her. Then she opened her eyes, feeling as though she was rising up from beneath a deep pool.

 

* * *

 

The room was dim when Xela blinked back to herself, with no concept of how much time had passed-- There was only one small, bright light in front of her. For one horrifying minute she thought she was in one of the interrogation chambers, but then she caught sight of Ignae’s bright hair in the glare of the light, and she and Zita swam into Xela’s vision. They were bent over Zita’s holoscreen, examining something closely, and looked up at Xela’s soft moan when she struggled to stand, her legs tingling and numb beneath her.

“Welcome back,” said Zita in the quiet darkness, setting aside her holoscreen to come to Xela’s aid.

“Yeah, you barely moved for over an hour,” said Ignae, getting up to stand at Xela’s other side.

“Thanks, thanks, but I--” Xela paused for a second, swaying on her disembodied legs. “Wait, map, I need a map, quick, before it’s gone,” she said, trying to search the room, terrified that the vision would fade before she had a chance to use it. Igane was quick on the uptake, diving for the holoscreen Zita had left on her bed.

“A map? Hang on, I’ve got you-- of Theed?” Ignae said, scrolling quickly across the machine’s surface. At Xela’s nod, she pulled an image up with a few quick flicks. Although it was small, the blue, flickering blob that was Theed was enough. Reaching out towards the holoscreen, Xela’s eyes slid shut one more time, and she let her hand guide itself, the memory of the energy from the hallway acting as a beacon to her sightless eyes. When she felt her fingers connect with the surface of the screen, all three of the women gathered closer around it, to see Xela’s finger pressed solidly on top of Theed’s Royal Prison.

“Oh,” said Ignae, “Well, I guess that makes sense.”

“At least we know now they don’t have her in the palace, awaiting her trial or something,” said Zita, plainly relieved, “That might give us a bit more time.” Anxiety flared in Xela’s stomach, a memory of something urgent she had needed to tell them--

“Oh!” she gasped, metal bands suddenly clasping around her heart. “No, we don’t have any time at all-- there was a man there, a new one, not the king,” she rushed, stumbling to get the words out all at once, “He made Jesa tell him where we were; he was strong with the Force, stronger than anyone I’ve ever met.” She looked up into Zita and Ignae’s faces, trying to show them the fear that was pounding against her. “If he’s coming right now, then we’re already out of time. We can’t stay here, we have to go!”

Zita frowned, considering. “Look, I don’t know what you saw, but we already talked about this. We can't just barge out into the streets with fantasies of rescue. We need a plan of some kind-- Ignae and I have a few ideas, but nothing concrete yet that will help Jesa.” Xela shook her head, wishing there was a way to make Zita understand.

“There's no time!” she pleaded. “He's coming, and we can't help her at all if we're caught too! This man-- he’s like nothing I’ve ever seen; he’s not just corrupt, he’s evil. We can’t let him find us, please, we need to go _now_.” Zita seemed surprised by Xela’s fervent description, but Ignae didn’t even hesitate. Nodding, she immediately passed Zita’s holoscreen back to her.

“If he’s as bad as you say, then at the very least we don’t want to bring him down on Madame Gaska’s head. If worst comes to worst, we can improvise; it’s not like our other plans went all that smoothly anyways. So come on, let’s go now,” Ignae said, kneeling by her bed to ruffle through her blankets. “Grab your things, let's get out of here.” Seeing that the other two were convinced, Zita dragged her hands over her face before turning to tuck their ‘borrowed’ holocron and some stray power cords into her pockets, muttering irritably about impatient women and last-minute rescues. After one last look to ensure they had left nothing behind, the three of them shoved out of the room, clumsily dragging the door closed behind them.

Downstairs, while Xela and Ignae milled anxiously by the door, Zita hurried up to the desk and pressed the buzzer repeatedly, unsparing in her persistence.

“All right, all right, I’m coming, stars above!” came Madame Gaska’s voice from the stairs as the old woman tottered into view, wearing a ragged pink dressing gown. Not even waiting for her to reach the desk, Zita rushed to the woman.

“Please, we need our stay to be unlisted, here’s our key, you’ve been paid in full-- and maybe you should take the next few days off.” Madame Gaska stilled, her senile eyes suddenly alive with shrewdness. She nodded slowly, considering.

“If you say so, dearie-- now you just get on now, get on. Madame Gaska will take care of it.” Zita breathed out a quick ‘thank you’ before hurrying to the door. The old woman watched Ignae and Zita duck out into the street, the wind from their departure fluttering the streamers hanging from the ceiling. Just as Xela was about to follow them, she took one fleeting glance back, inexplicably saddened to see the little old woman standing alone in her parlor. “May the Force be with you,” Madame Gaska said suddenly, giving Xela a gap-toothed smile. Xela barely had time to mumble a hurried ‘And also with you,’ before Ignae’s hand was dragging her through the door and out into the city.


	10. Oh Captain, My Captain

The sky was just beginning to pink with dawn’s first breath as the fugitives departed as they had arrived, harried and looking over their shoulders when they rounded the corner. They only paused a moment to cluster around Zita’s holoscreen as she looked up directions to Theed’s public prison, and Xela wasn’t sure if it was ironic or not to find that they weren’t far from it.

There were only a few pedestrians in the city as the sky lightened; a couple of early-morning runners and street cleaners retiring for the night crossed their path as they scuttled through the streets. They didn’t even spot a single guard when they began crossing main thoroughfares, and they reached their destination unscathed.

The prison was safely secluded from the rest of the city, buried at the fringes of the Sketic Sector and removed from the Guard Headquarters at the center of the metropolitan. The building itself was at odds with the rest of the city’s domed and classical architecture, but was as imposing as Xela had expected it would be. Like many of the institutions that Xela and Master Ki-Adi-Mundi had visited during her training, it was less of a singular structure and more of a compound, with a cluster of blocky buildings peppered with uniform windows behind high, flat walls. An imposing, heavy gate flanked with two small guard houses marked the entrance, and three sleepy soldiers stood at their posts, pacing back and forth before it. And yet, in a surprising touch of civic aesthetic, two square flowerbeds bordered with green turf filled the space in front of the guard houses, and the road leading up to the gate had been paved with more care than some of the byways the group had walked to get there.

Not wishing to seem suspicious, Xela, Zita, and Ignae skirted around the main gate and slipped into a side street, which allowed them to remain out of view from the guards, but still survey the entrance.

“Ok, we’ve made it this far-- Now what?” said Xela.

“Well, we’ve got about--” Zita pulled out her holoscreen and glanced at the time, “20 minutes before the guards rotate, so whatever we’re going to do, we’d better be ready to do it by then.”

“That’s good to know. What else have we got?” the Padawan asked, glancing nervously towards the gate.

“There’s a containment level on the second floor of the Gaia Building, as well as some of the … interrogation chambers. Seems to me that might be our best bet for finding Jesa,” said Zita, shedding some excess energy raising and lowering herself on her toes.

“We can’t just _find_ her though and bust her out. We need to prove everyone’s innocence,” countered Ignae. “Otherwise we’ll end up back where we started-- on the run again. Although let’s not clear Eugene’s name, he got us into all this.”

“Exactly. Not him. But you said before that you thought we could do that by making our appeals to the captain,” continued Xela. “Speaking of, would he even be here instead of in the city center?”

“Actually, yes,” said Zita with a nod. “He’s coming here today for a review, in about an hour or so.”

“So, do you think there’s a way we could… maybe catch him alone or something? I know we don’t want to make ourselves seem more guilty than we already do, but we only need long enough to present our evidence,” said Ignae, absentmindedly nibbling at a hangnail on her thumb.

“Security camera footage usually shows him spending some time in his office before he tours the prison. It’s feasible that we could meet him there,” said Zita, seeming a bit more relaxed now that they were coming up with a plan.

“Security camera footage? Seriously, who are you?” muttered Xela, “But that does seem the best place to get him alone, as long as we can get in without raising the alarm.”

“Can you do that mind-trick thing on the guards, like you said before?” asked Ignae, shivering a bit in the morning chill.

“10 minutes,” Zita intoned as Xela shook her head doubtfully.

“I’m not sure if I can do two people at once without being horribly obvious about it. I could definitely do one though… Maybe get him to think we’re, um… officials come to see the facilities with the captain. But what if they recognize us?”

“They won’t be expecting fugitives to just walk up to the prison. That should buy us some time. But whatever you can do, you need to do it _now,_ ” Zita said, pushing the others back toward the main entrance. “Figure it out, let’s go.”

Xela stumbled out of hiding and straightened up, and, with the other two following close behind, tried to look official as she made her way towards the gate. Coming up to the guards, she arranged her face into what she hoped was a bored expression, as if they were all there for a routine task that they’d done a million times before.

“Good morning, gentleme--sirs,” she stumbled a bit on the etiquette, hoping the men wouldn’t notice and that Zita would resist the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose. “These are the honorable representatives Jobal and Sola, and I am handmaiden Winama. We’re here to help with today’s inspections, as representatives of the King,” she said, lazily waving her hand towards her companions. “We’re to meet with the captain in his office, if you could let us through.” She held her breath, hoping that her pounding heart wasn’t audible to the guards’ ears. Focusing all her energy on the taller man before her, she willed him with everything she had to believe their story, pressing it gently into the folds of his mind. A pleasantly dazed look began to melt across his face beneath his helmet, but his companion remained unmoved.

The other guard scrutinized her face, frowning. “You look familiar... although I can’t say I remember you helping with any previous inspections.” His face took on a more suspicious look, causing the panic levels in Xela’s chest to ratchet upward. Her mind was suddenly devoid of anything to say, in that moment she couldn’t have made idle small talk, let alone convinced a dubious guardsman that she was anyone important.

“How observant of you, sir,” said a cool voice behind her, that Xela could barely recognize as Ignae’s. “It’s true that Miss Winama here is the newest member of His Majesty’s retinue, and has only served at a limited number of social functions so far. As this is her first solo mission on business for the King, it’s understandable that you might have your doubts about her identity.” Xela could feel Ignae advancing closely behind her, until they stood shoulder-to-shoulder in front of the guard’s shelter. “But you could hardly fail to remember _me_ ,” the traveller continued, her tone walking the fine line between haughty and cajoling. Xela suddenly felt Zita’s boot deliver sharp kick to the back of her ankle, and she shook herself-- right, oh, yes, this was her job-- she bent her mind towards the other man. She plucked at his relief that he had been right to be suspicious, and fanned at a thin veneer of pride in his heart until it bloomed into cockiness. Her eyes began to water, she could feel her influence on the first guard beginning to slip. But she didn’t have to hold out for long, this time the second guard’s face relaxed from it’s hard stare, and a smile came to his lips.

“Thank you ma’am, I couldn’t forget a face like yours. Of course, you’re all welcome to our humble establishment.” Xela breathed out a sigh of relief, careful not to let it change her expression. The second guard turned away and went back to his station at the other side of the gate, joining the third guard. In unison, he and his peer stepped into their respective houses and pressed their palms across a blue scanner. Xela could hear a low humming,then a green light flashed next to the man’s hand with a friendly beep, and the gate responded, groaning as it slid into the wall. The three women stepped assuredly over the threshold, waved on by the oblivious guards, and with Zita’s guidance they made their way up to the captain’s office. They found the door unlocked, but as their timetable suggested, the man himself had not yet arrived, and would not for at least half an hour.

This left them alone, standing in a sterile hallway and glaringly out of place. Ignae shouldered through the door first, then Xela, with Zita bringing up the rear. As Zita closed the door behind them, the padawan found them crammed into a surprisingly sparse, windowless room. The walls were carefully blank and tinted a bland shade of taupe, the only decoration a large holoscreen on one wall. On it, a long white beach stretched beneath a vast blue sky, forever lapped at by moving, pixelated waves. Beyond that, there was little more in the room than a shelf full of glowing blue files, a sturdy, utilitarian desk at the back of the room, and two rustically wooden chairs sitting before the desk. The disarmingly mundane smell of office supplies and the clean scent of aftershave permeated the place, making Xela wrinkle her nose after days of breathing in the ‘exotic’ scents of Madame Gaska’s. But despite this, the one luxury item that Xela could spot was the chair behind the desk-- it was a fine piece of work, cushioned with a soft leather and endowed with a comfortable headrest.

“Well, there’s nothing to do now but wait for him, I suppose,” Ignae sighed. “I call dibs on the chair!” She skipped forward and sank into the plush seat behind the desk.

“I guess not,” agreed Xela, perching herself on a free corner of the captain’s painfully neat desk. It was not cluttered with any notes to himself or small gifts from family members or friends, save for two holographs next to the monitor: one showed a grinning, elderly couple in front of a townhouse, and the other a brightly handsome man with a thin jaw holding two toddlers, one on each hip. Otherwise, every folder and holocron had it’s own place, it seemed the man was more fastidious than Xela had given him credit for when he was trying to arrest them. Turning away from her snooping, Xela said, “Um, Zita-- are you ok?” The woman was leaning against the door, her eyes closed and her face drawn.

“I can’t believe,” began Zita, her face haggard and her eyes closed, “that we just walked up to two-- no, _three_ highly-trained men, guarding one of the most dangerous facilities in the city, asked them to let us in… _And they did_.”

Ignae let out a small giggle. “I know, right?” she said, kicking her feet up so that they rested on the desk. “I really thought we’d almost had it when that second guy was eyeing us, but--” she grinned, nudging Xela with her foot. “Way to come through there, in the end.” Xela allowed herself a timid smile, relaxing a bit more onto the corner of the desk.

“I’m sure he was just succumbing to that amazing performance you made back there. I’ve never heard you talk like that before,” she said, looking at Ignae with new eyes.

“Just remind me to never let _you_ do the talking again,” said Zita, the strained expression on her face warming into a mischievous expression. “I don’t think calling people ‘gentlesirs’ is ever going to come back into fashion.” Xela winced, feeling bashful as she smiled at the ribbing.

“True, but kicking me wasn’t exactly the most graceful way to clue me in, either,” she said, bouncing her own feet lazily against the desk. “I would’ve settled for a nice, gentle nudge, too.”

“I would’ve, if I’d thought you’d actually notice!” laughed Zita, sliding down the face of the door to sit on the floor, crossing her legs in front of her. “But you looked like a nerf in the headlights, I knew drastic measures were necessary.”

“But hey, in spite of that hiccup, look who made it in with barely a whisper of a plan?” said Ignae, wiggling her eyebrows while peering around her feet towards the trader. Zita rolled her eyes.

“I’m not going to look at you when you’re like that. And yes, fine, I’ll admit that maybe the improvisation got us results faster than proper preparation, but I still stand by what I said-- we can’t just rush around everywhere hoping things somehow work out.”

“Even so,” Xela joined in, catching on to the mood as her leftover nerves began to drain away, “we did pretty well-- and this, what we’ve got between us-- this is good,” she said, waving her hand expansively at the three of them, uninvited guests in the captain’s office.

“Yeah. But it’ll be better when we’re all here,” said Ignae’s voice from behind her, suddenly somber. Xela’s heart dropped, and she lowered her head as Zita nodded, her laughter quieting at the thought of the Gray Jedi. Xela felt as though something was pummeling at her ribcage, and she tried to let it out, bit by bit, like a newly discovered animal she wasn’t sure anyone wanted to see.

“Look, both of you-- I’m sorry. It’s my fault--”

“I’m going to stop you right there,” interrupted Zita, holding up a warning hand. “Xela, remember what I said to you when we first met?” Xela looked up through her eyelashes.

“You mean when you asked me what I was doing barging in on your business?”

“That’s true,” Zita said with nod, “But a little after that. We don’t waste time feeling guilty,” she finished with her familiar, pointed look. As she spoke, she began to absently wind her braid into a crown around her head, the thick locks twisting over each other. “Xela, I can’t speak for Ignae, but for myself, it’s enough that you’re here with us now. You’re here, and you’re willing to do the work to undo what you did-- or didn’t do, as it were.”

“I feel the same way,” said Ignae, though Xela still couldn’t convince herself to look over her shoulder at the red-headed woman. “The fact that you’re willing to change your mind, and risk everything you’ve worked for to back that up-- well, that’s the kind of Jedi I could get behind.” Ignae’s words were warm and encouraging, Xela felt them in her stomach like a spiced cup of gav, spreading up into her chest and into the tips of her fingers. “Of course, I think you still might owe someone an apology,” Ignae continued, and Xela nodded, this time accepting the advice for what it was. “Just not for any of us.”

The three of them sat together in a lull of silence, and Xela could hardly believe that it had barely been a week since they’d first met. As a quick check, she tried to close her eyes and reach out for Jesa’s presence-- but she felt nothing. Hopefully it was just nerves getting in the way, she told herself. But a tendril of dread slipped down her throat all the same, and Xela settled in for the wait with renewed determination, wishing that Jesa knew she was no longer alone in this barren building.

 

* * *

 

The hour that then passed seemed longer to Xela than the entire day they had waited when Jesa had first disappeared. Perhaps it was worse because the room they sat in was windowless, without any sunlight to track the hours. Xela had wondered why the Captain, as a seemingly frugal man from the rest of his office, would splurge on a company-issued holoscreen until she found herself staring longingly at the sand and envisioning the feel of the water between her toes. In comparison, the temperature control in the building was a little on the low side, and Xela was often folding her arms tightly against herself, trying to stay warm in the subtle chill. All three of the women tried the chair at one point or another, alternating between sitting in its embrace, lounging on the floor, or propping their legs up on one of the two seats in front of the desk. It was a godsend when Zita finally glanced at her holoscreen, and said, “He should be here any minute now.” In stark comparison to the slowness of the previous hour, it now seemed to Xela that time was rushing towards them, and that they weren’t ready.

There was a flurry of activity around the room as they rushed to position themselves, darting around the desk and getting under each others’ feet. There was a pell-mell discussion about who should be at the desk-- “Who wants it?” “You should take it, you look more imposing at the desk.” “Are you sure?” “Yeah, go, go, you make the desk look good, I’ll be over here--” “Sorry, sorry, I stepped on you--” and in the end, Zita sat at the desk with her hands steepled before her, Ignae perched easily on one edge of it, and Xela stood just behind the chair, feeling clumsy and awkward like some kind of incompetent bodyguard. Unexpected anxiety was fluttering in her chest, she’d thought that after everything that had happened, making their case to a single man would hardly be the thing to unnerve her. But nonetheless, she tapped her hands restlessly against her thighs, jittering in place and occasionally looking at Zita’s focused expression, her eyes fixed on the door. Xela took some solace in the fact that Ignae looked a bit nervous too, her foot tapped a rapid beat against the desk, punctuating the silence. They waited. And waited. Zita checked her holoscreen, apparently he was late. Then they heard the vague mutter of voices, growing just beyond the door. The captain’s clipped growl became distinct on the other side of the metal.

“Of course Brenlang, I’ll be right there-- after I deal with the King’s representatives. They’re not due until next week, and he knows I hate surprises.” Xela idly wondered if the Captain knew how thin his door was. But she had no time to think on it any further before the door creaked open, revealing the Captain in profile, still talking to someone down the hall. “You’re dismissed. Now, my esteemed ladies--” he turned to face them, and froze, his face swiftly shifting into an ‘O’ of surprise. “You!” he said, his hand tightening on the door handle.

“Xela, could you please invite the captain in?” said Zita calmly, as if it was he, not they, who were visitors in his office. Xela raised her hand towards the man, palm outward, and he suddenly skidded into the room while his unmoving feet dragged across the floor. At the same time, Xela nudged the door with her mind, and it slid shut with a quiet click, hopefully hiding the captain’s startled cry as he came to a stop before the desk.

“Release me at once,” the Captain growled, and Xela had to give him credit for his gumption. He had hardly seemed fazed by being dragged into his office by an unseen force; most people usually had a thing or two to say about that the first time they saw a Jedi at work.

“Of course,” said Zita smoothly, “but only on the condition that you give us 10 minutes of your time.”

“Seriously? How dare-?” The captain cut himself off, infuriated. He sighed. “It doesn’t appear that I have much choice,” he said, his expression sour-- but still, behind his frustration and the neat press of his leather uniform, he seemed deeply weary. Dark shadows like brushstrokes were painted beneath his eyes, and his face, although coolly professional, was pale and drawn.

“You have our word,” said Zita, nodding in satisfaction. She was back in her element, forcible coercion or no, and it suited her well. “No harm will come to you, and we hope that by the end of this discussion, we’ll have been able to convince you of our innocence of the charges against us.”

“Well, I’m sorry to break it to you, but you’re not exactly helping your case here,” muttered the Captain. Xela could feel him straining to move his feet, pushing against her.

“True, the circumstances are regrettable, but we had no other way to ensure that you would give us a chance to explain ourselves,” said Zita, still poised in the face of his obstinacy. “We would be happy to fill out a full report later, if you agree with our version of events.” The captain frowned, his posture stiff. Hoping he would take the gesture as a show of good faith, Xela released him, and immediately his shoulders relaxed. Settling into an ‘at ease’ stance, he faced them with his hands behind his back. His eyes narrowed, and for a moment Xela was sure he was about to leap for the door-- or for Zita’s throat, she couldn’t tell.

“Alright then, you have my attention,” the captain finally stated. “Explain.”

“Well,” said Zita, pulling the holocron out of her pocket and placing it on the desk, “first of all, we have found the identity of the other party involved in the altercation the night of our… incident. A bounty hunter named Eugene Clazach, more commonly known as the Bounty Botcher.” She slid the little box toward the captain, continuing. “All of his known crimes from the past five years are on this holocron, including his previous offenses on Naboo. He began the commotion by attacking me, a fact which we believe can be confirmed by your security footage from the square during the festival.”

Ignae spoke up next. “Her actions against him that evening are clearly in self defense, and she therefore should not be charged for any kind of assault. The rest of us were merely bystanders that the Botcher accused to make himself into more of a victim.”

“And I can provide character references, to prove our honesty,” Xela added. “I’m a Padawan from the temple in Coruscant, and my Master can vouch for our actions.” She told herself it wasn’t exactly a lie as the captain considered their words. Master Ki-Adi-Mundi would definitely have understood their motives, if not the way they went about pursuing them.

“Finally,” Zita finished, “our actions at the hall of records were merely to find the bounty hunter’s name for you, in order to clear our own.” She spread her arms in a gesture of goodwill. “We never meant any harm, and given that the only damage caused was to the security droid, we would be happy to pay for a replacement.”

Xela waited with bated breath, her heart softly pounding. It all sounded logical to her, and she could only hope that the captain would agree. However, her mind kept drifting back to Jesa, alone in the cold, dark chamber, and she wished they could move these proceedings along faster.

The captain shifted his weight to one side and crossed his arms, relaxing out of his soldier’s stance. “You might be surprised to hear this, but we've been working on your case this past week, and we had come to nearly the same conclusion as of last night,” he sighed. “Your story matches both with our security footage and with the story your other friend told when I questioned her.” Xela’s stomach flipped again at the mention of the Gray Jedi. “However, I still have two issues with the overall events,” he continued. “For one thing, if all of you were innocent, then why in the galaxy did you run away?” Zita remained silent, giving Xela a chance to respond. Grateful, Xela gathered her courage as she felt her palms begin to sweat.

“That was my fault, sir,” she said, stepping forward. “I’m ashamed to say that when I saw that we were going to be arrested, I panicked. It was foolish, and caused all of us more trouble than it was worth. The others only tried to help me after I ran.” She could feel her eyes beginning to drift away from his as she spoke, but she forced them back, taking comfort in Ignae and Zita’s presence beside her. “I have no excuse, and I’m sorry.” Xela paused, feeling both as though she had said too much and not enough, all at once. But nonetheless, she held herself with her chin up beneath the Captain’s hard gaze.

“Normally, I’d classify fleeing an officer as a minor misdemeanor,” he said. Xela swallowed hard, but she nodded, her fists balled at her sides.

“I understand, sir,” she replied. Hopefully Ignae and Zita would still be allowed to get Jesa out; the Captain seemed like a fair man. If she cooperated maybe he would be lenient with her sentence--

“As is aiding and abetting,” he continued, his eyes sweeping over the other two women at the desk.

“Sir, please-” Xela tried to break in, anxiety flaring in her chest. She couldn’t bring Zita, Ignae, and Jesa down with her, she couldn’t. This was taking too long as it was and Jesa didn’t have time--

“But in this case, I think we can all agree that some flexibility would be fitting,” he said. “How about a plea-deal, as it were? You help me bring in Mr. Clazach, and I will drop the remaining claims of evasion and property damage.” Xela wanted to agree immediately, but she looked to Zita and Ignae first. This was their decision too. They glanced between themselves in silent communion; Ignae looked as readily prepared as Xela, but Zita hesitated, taking a bit longer to consider the Captain’s proposal. But finally, as she looked between the two younger women, she gave a minute nod.

“You have two minutes left,” the captain said, but perhaps a bit more gently than before.

“I’m well aware,” said Zita, lowering her hands from where they had been braced before her while she thought. “But your terms seem acceptable, we’ll do as you ask.” The captain nodded as well, not exactly with a satisfied expression, but a kind of peaceful tolerance.

“However, you said you still had two grievances with our case?” asked Zita, interrupting the relief that had begun to spread through the room. The captain grunted, frowning into a thoughtful expression.

“That’s right-- the one thing we couldn’t figure out is why you were targeted in the first place. Clazach lacks motive, which would help us anticipate his next move.”

“We thought about that too,” replied Zita, sounding eager to be reopening this particular mystery. “We know he was hoping to profit off of a well-- maybe that’s a code word or a location, but I don’t know how that would lead him to me anyways.”

“A well?” said the Captain, equally intrigued. “Hm, I’ve not heard anything about that. Though you’re right, it could be some kind of stand-in, it’s possible that smuggler jargon’s been updated recently to include a ‘well’. Maybe if we run it by some of our inner-city contacts--” he said thoughtfully, when their discussion was suddenly interrupted.

“I know what he was after,” came a soft voice from the back of the room. Xela and the others all turned in the direction of the sound to find themselves facing the youngest member of the group.

Ignae stood before them, her eyes downcast, digging the tip of her boot into the floor. “He was after me-- after information that I have. The well… I-- I made a promise that I would keep their secret, and I don't know how word got out that I’d been there. But clearly there are people after my information, and the Botcher was foolish enough to just shout out why he was there for the whole galaxy to hear.”

“He's after you?” Xela blurted out, stunned. “Why didn't you tell us?” It was strange to see Ignae look so subdued, but she met their eyes all the same.

“I’m sorry, I know it might’ve helped… explain things a bit. But you have to understand, where I was, before I came here--” she huffed out a sigh, and she seemed to struggle with her words. “It's a sacred place, I guess you could say, and I promised to protect it, no matter what. So even when I guessed that Eugene was looking for me-- I didn’t want to believe that he really knew, especially if it was because of me. I thought maybe if I just kept quiet, I’d be proved wrong, you know?”

“But we could have helped protect you,” Xela said, feeling hurt that Ignae hadn't trusted them enough to tell them the truth. She understood the redhead’s reasoning, of course, but it still stung.

“Well, I know that now, don’t I?” said Ignae, with a wistful smile. “I can’t imagine what you must be thinking, after I asked you to believe in me for Jesa.” Xela’s hurt vanished in a whirl of memory.

“Jesa!” Xela’s thoughts spun wildly through her mind. They would have to revisit Ignae’s problem once the Gray Jedi was back with the group, but first they needed to get her out. “Captain, we need our friend back; she's hurt, she's--” Xela paused and trailed off. It felt odd to call Jesa a friend, considering that their last interaction had ended with an arrest. But maybe, in the future, could that title be true?

“What do you mean she's hurt?” The captain sounded indignant. “She's merely being kept in a holding cell-- she's been there since I questioned her the day of her arrest.”

“You mean you don't know what goes on in your own prison?” Zita asked, almost scornful. “I suppose, then, that you are unaware she’s been transferred to a, well, _forceful_ interrogation chamber? And subsequently forcefully interrogated by multiple parties?” The captain scowled at her, affronted.

“If anything’s happened in _my_ prison, it’s because I’ve been out-ranked, not because we’re incompetent! But no,” he said, worry lines stretching around his mouth. “Your friend should still be in public containment, nowhere else--” he made a move towards the desk, then stopped. “Excuse me, but I’ll be needing that chair.”

Zita sighed, resigned to standing. “Of course,” she said, getting to her feet. The man slid into the seat and woke up the monitor with a few keystrokes. His fingers moved rapidly across the keyboard on his desk as he scrolled through countless records, disregarding how the three women hovered anxiously around his shoulders. “There, see,” he said, enlarging a file with Jesa’s picture. Her face was stony as it looked out at them, the background familiar from the night they had met. “She’s just where she--” He cut himself off, leaning closer to the screen. He frowned again, deepening the creases around his lips as they all stared at the curiously blank file. It was utterly empty, save for two words, in glaring red type: ‘Status: DETAINED.’ He clicked through a few more tabs on her file, white screens meeting them at every turn. “We need to go. Now,” said the captain, exiting the screen.

"What, what is it?” said Ignae as he roughly shoved out of his chair, and Xela scrambled to get out of his way as he moved towards the door.

“Your friend has no record here-- there’s no incident report of her arrival, no record of her holding cell, even my report from a day or two ago is missing. According to our data, she doesn’t exist within these walls.” The women hurried after him, all four of them bursting into the hallway and bustling down it, their footsteps echoing along its length.

“What? But how? Shouldn’t her ID scan from last week at least have shown up?” asked Zita, close on the Captain’s heels.

"Yes,” growled the Captain, making a hard right at the end of the hallway. “It should, but there’s nothing-- the only possible explanation is that her files have been tampered with. Get in here,” he said, punching a button on the wall as they clustered around the door of an elevator. The doors slid open with a merry ding that didn’t suit the occasion, and the group piled in, shooing out two startled record-keepers burdened with holoscreens.

Xela felt her stomach flip as the contraption began to move, but the Captain seemed unfazed and continued talking. “If you’re right and she’s been interrogated, she’ll be in the Gaia Wing.” He ignored Zita’s quiet ‘We know,’ and said, “But that’s one of our largest buildings, I have no idea how long it could take to find her without her records.”

“Xela can do it,” Ignae said from the back, smiling confidently.

“Is that so?” he said, raising an eyebrow. Xela cleared her throat anxiously.

“Yes sir,” she said, quailing as she thought of how she hadn’t been able to feel the Gray Jedi an hour ago.

“Good, because if you can’t find her quickly, I doubt whoever’s trying to hide her will let her be found at all.” Xela bit her lip, trying to quiet her wriggling stomach. She, Zita and Ignae all suddenly stumbled into the elevator wall as it careened to a halt-- the Captain alone kept his balance as the doors slid open. Stepping through the port, Xela saw a familiar hallway. If she hadn’t known any better, she might have thought they had gotten miraculously lucky and weren’t far from Jesa’s cell. But there was no lingering trace of Jesa’s presence, nothing to convince Xela that she was there. Praying that she wasn’t making a mistake, she shook her head and turned towards the Captain and her friends.

“She’s not here,” she said. The Captain nodded.

“Fine, then back we go,” he said, opening the elevator again with a press of a button. They all stepped inside, and descended deeper beneath the building. At every floor Xela would step out and close her eyes, feeling for Jesa. Sometimes she knew immediately that there was no sign of her friend, others, she needed a minute or so to truly search. They went down two floors-- five-- ten floors, and Xela was beginning to well and truly panic. They were two floors away from the end of the line when Xela felt a sudden flicker at the opening of the doors. She gasped and ducked out into the hallway, with Ignae and Zita right behind her. Wheeling about, Xela stretched out her hands, imagining that she could almost see the ripples of the force as it twined around her fingers. There was a tightness to the left, like the muggy atmosphere in a field when clouds were brewing overhead. Xela dashed that way, barely pausing to read the numbers on the doors as she passed. They ran all the way down one length of the hall and rounded the corner into another, the doors flicking by in her vision. No, no, no, each was a disappointment that weighed in her stomach the farther they went. The tension in her ears neither grew nor faded, but maybe Jesa was so weak that this was all Xela was going to get, no matter how close she was to the other woman. Either way, Xela was beginning to despair when she suddenly did a double-take. She stumbled to a halt as Zita and Ignae ran into her back, and they all turned to look at the door behind them.

_XXIV._

“Here sir, here, she’s here, I know it!” Xela whipped around to face the captain, pleading with him as he jogged up behind them.

“Open it, please,” whispered Ignae, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. The man hurried forward and swiped his identichip in front of a thin scanner by the door. It beeped shrilly, flashing once red and twice blue before the door slid open.

The first thing Xela noticed was the smell, just as it had been in her vision-- antiseptic and sweat layered together in the chill, damp air. Beyond that, the doorway revealed a hollow blackness into which hardly any light penetrated. But in what little there was, Xela could see something in the gloom. There, hanging amongst the group’s backlit shadows like bars across her face, was Jesa, strapped to a metal table as she had been in Xela’s vision.

The woman looked far worse for wear than even Xela could remember. Her normally olive skin had taken on a gray pallor, highlighting the darkness of her hair and the hollows beneath her eyes. Even in the dimness of the room, they could see where the manacles had chafed red scabs into the Jesa’s wrists; how her fingernails had cut tiny, weeping crescent moons into the palms of her hands--

“Oh stars,” muttered the Captain, “This is-- all of this is wrong.” For a second time since that night, Xela felt as though something was scraping out her insides and spilling them across the floor. But this time, it was guilt that made her freeze at the door, looking in at the Gray Jedi’s prone form and knowing that she was the one who’d put it there.

“Jesa!” Ignae cried out, running into the dark chamber. Reaching the table, she pressed her fingers against the Gray Jedi’s wrist with one hand, and smoothed the woman’s hair away from her face with the other. She sighed in relief and turned back to the others. “She’s still alive, thank the stars. Let’s get her out, come on.”

The other three followed her in, Xela breaking from her stillness to rush to Jesa’s side.

“Jesa, I’m so sorry,” she gulped, raking her gaze up and down the woman’s body, from her blackened and peeling arms to her glistening face. She didn’t care that Ignae could hear her from where she stood, she only gripped Jesa’s arm as tightly as she could without hurting her. For a moment, she surreally remembered how she had done the same, as an apparition, during the hooded man’s visit. Behind Xela, Zita and the Captain followed more slowly, the trader turning on the lights as she passed by the switch. Under the harsh brightness, the shadows along Jesa’s face became even more pronounced, so that she appeared almost skeletal.

“We need to wake her up first,” Zita reminded Ignae gently. “If we free her now, she’ll fall.” At Xela and Ignae’s nods, she reached into her jacket and pulled a small glass bottle from one of her pockets. It was corked, and tiny crystals glittered within. Yanking the top out with her teeth, the trader lifted the bottled and wafted it beneath Jesa’s nose. Almost immediately, Jesa’s head wrenched back from the pungent odor, even though her eyes took a moment longer to flutter open. They screwed up tightly beneath the light, and her breathing picked up as she began to stir.

“Hey, we’re here,” murmured Ignae gently, laying a bracing hand against Jesa’s shoulder as she began to struggle, whimpering softly.

“Yeah, don’t worry-- you’re safe now,” said Xela as Zita tucked her bottle away. “What is that stuff?” she asked in a low mutter.

“Smelling salts, from Endor’s moons,” said Zita, for once failing to further elaborate as she nodded at the captain. “Ok, you can let her go now. We’ve got her.” The captain reached around Xela and entered a number on a minute keypad that Xela hadn’t noticed, and the bands around Jesa retracted with a satisfying clank. With a soft groan, Jesa immediately tumbled forward into Xela and Ignae’s waiting arms. Between them, the two women easily supported her weight as her legs folded beneath her. “Come on, get her shoulders,” Zita instructed, and Xela and Ignae readily obeyed, winding Jesa’s arms over their shoulders and trying not to brush against her wounds. But remembering her dream, Xela feared that no matter what they did, Jesa was hurting at every touch. Nonetheless, they began to ease her out of the room, eager to leave the place behind. Zita kept pace just behind them, never rushing as they limped towards the door, where the captain waited-- as soon as he’d released Jesa, he’d moved back to the entrance to give them some privacy. He refrained from helping them bear their friend as they passed, and Xela doubted they would have let him. Instead, as soon as they crossed the threshold of the chamber, he closed the door and took up a position behind Zita, following their awkward caravan down the hall. “She needs a hospital,” said Zita, her voice drifting to Xela’s ears as they walked.

“No, to my office, first,” replied the Captain, his voice now a soft rumble. “I can get you access to the infirmary here, but you’ll need you identichips for that.”

“Fine.” said Zita stiffly, “but it’s hardly fair to make her go any farther than she needs to right now. One of us will go with you to your office, the other two can head straight to the infirmary.” The captain didn’t seem to mind that Zita was giving him orders like a private fresh from the academy, instead, he made an acquiescing sound in the back of his throat.

“As you wish. I’m assuming you know the way?” he said, his voice wry-- Xela assumed he could only be talking to Zita.

“Of course,” said Zita, without an ounce of regret.

“Good,” the captain said, his voice brusque again. “You, Padawan,” he continued, tapping Xela’s shoulder. “You’re with me.”

Xela nodded mutely, and slid herself out from under Jesa’s arm so that Zita could take her place. She winced at Jesa’s soft moan, guessing that the extra movements were not helping ease the woman’s pain. Nevertheless, they made the switch and continued down to the elevator; once they were on, the captain directed it to take them to the appropriate floors. They rode mostly in silence, aside from the scattered gasps that escaped Jesa’s lips at every jostle of the floor. The elevator finally slowed, and an overhead ding announced their arrival at the infirmary. Ignae shot one last look at Xela as they got off, and the Padawan found her own worry reflected back at her from Ignae’s bright blue eyes. Then the doors slid shut, and Xela was alone with the captain as the contraption whisked them back up the next few floors.

At the sound of another ding, they exited into a familiar hallway and made their way back towards the captain’s office. The man himself stayed pensively quiet, and Xela was not eager to disturb him, her mind equally wrapped in her own thoughts. Concern for Jesa, curiosity about Ignae and her well, frustration at the web of mysteries that seemed to surround their fugitivity on Naboo-- everything was jumbled together inside her head, ringing against an exhaustion that was beginning to remind her how little she had slept the night before. It was a relief to reach the office and step inside, to give herself something concrete to focus on.

The captain shut the door tightly behind them, then walked behind his desk and sank into his chair, not looking as though he was planning to rise any time soon. Xela hadn’t thought that he could look any more exhausted than he had before, but the events of the last hour appeared to have drained him of what little vigor he had left. Resigned to waiting until he’d done as he wished, she perched on the edge of one of the chairs opposite him, folded her hands, and waited for him to speak.

The captain cleared his throat. “I’m, um, sorry about what happened. I don’t have any idea why that girl was interrogated like that. She was so forthcoming when I first questioned her, there was no reason...” He dragged a weary hand across his face before continuing, a forceful edge to his voice. “She should have been formally processed and released within a week, not tortured like some animal. Less than an animal-- no one treats any beast like that on Naboo.” He paused, as though waiting for some response from her. When none came, he leaned forward in his chair and said:

“Please, I’ve never condoned practices like that, this was-- far, _far_ beyond any of our protocols. We don’t even treat war criminals that way.” His anxiety was palpable in the speed of his voice; Xela thought she could understand his feelings. Maybe he was now wrestling with as much guilt as she was. “And worse, I don’t even know _why_ ,” he said. “What guard could have been so malicious as to do that to her?”

“Well, the thing is…” Xela hesitated, unsure if it would be treasonous to continue. Could she tell him what his liege had  done? After a quick internal debate, she decided on telling just half of the truth. “It wasn’t a guard. I… had a vision. Of when she was-- you know. Here. There was a hooded man with her, with powers unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. He must have known how to alter the prison records to hide Jesa away, and given that she’s also a Force-user... I think he was trying to sway her to the Dark Side.

“I know that sounds extreme,” she apologized, seeing his shocked look, “but it’s what I saw.” The captain leaned back, his eyes staring at some infinite point at the middle of his desk as he absorbed Xela’s words.

“Not a guard?” he said softly, “But a _Jedi_?”

“No, no, not at all,” Xela rushed to assure him. “He was nothing like one of us.”

“But maybe he got in the same way that you did?” he said, looking at her with his lips pressed into a thin line. Xela glanced away from him towards the portrait of the beach, unsure whether to reveal more. No, of course she should, he had to know who he was up against.

“No, I don’t think he did,” she said carefully. “In my vision, as he was leaving, he was talking about the king, and about events at court. It was like he was involved with royal proceedings, on some level at least. If that’s true-- he probably didn’t need the Force to get in here at all.” The captain hissed between his teeth, his eyes narrowing as he considered the possibilities of such a man being so close to his King. It was then that Xela almost regretted not telling him about King Veruna’s visit to Jesa’s cell too-- the king had hardly seemed any better than the hooded man, and the captain seemed to be of the honorable sort. He might even believe her, having seen Jesa for himself, and have the ability to depose Veruna and call for a new election. But if the hooded man had any sort of presence at court, the captain would need every kind of royal assistance at his disposal. Not to mention that the potential for the hooded man to further consolidate his power during the upheaval seemed too likely to ignore. So Xela kept quiet as the Captain thought.  

“Frag,” he muttered, kneading his temples. He looked up at her and smiled, his face devoid of mirth. “I think this is all a little beyond my civic duty, don’t you? I wasn’t trained for magic and monstrous men in cloaks.” He frowned again, his fingers straying towards one of the holoscreens as though he wished to hold it for comfort. “I’m sorry that you and your friends paid the price.” Xela looked down at her hands, unsure of how to respond.

“I’m not sure, sir. The more I think about it, the more it seems we walked into this on our own,” she said. The captain gave a hum of acknowledgement.

“Regardless,” he said, at last heaving himself from his chair, “I think you’ll be needing these.” He went to the shelf behind his desk, and opened a small box next to the files. From this he picked out four identichips, and then slid another, cylindrical object out from beside the box. Returning to the desk, he spilled the chips into Xela’s waiting palm. Then, once she’d safely stowed them in her pockets, he held out the dark, bronzed hilt of a lightsaber. Xela took the weapon slowly, the metal soothing and cool in her hands as the office lights gleamed dully along its length. It lacked the superfluously elaborate guards Xela had seen padawans adding to their lightsabers back at the temple, but instead was styled with an elegant simplicity that sat heavily in her hand. The casing was covered with tiny scratches and nicks, but still, the grip was clean, polished, and evidently well-cared for. As she turned it over under the light, she noticed that the hilt had been inlaid with silvery wire below the blade’s activation button. It twisted and twined around the handle, forming minimalist images of vines that curled delicately beneath her fingers. “It was confiscated when she came in,” said the Captain, admiring the weapon as he sat back down. “We wouldn’t have known she had it at all, but she handed it over as soon as she arrived.” Xela nodded, clutching the saber tightly in both hands, irrationally afraid that she would drop it.

“Thank you, sir.”

“It seems I’ll be thanking you, soon enough,” he said, sinking back into his seat, “Now go. Tend to your friend. You’ll need to take the elevator to the third floor, then there are signs-- I’ll send you a transmission of all we have on Mr. Clazach tomorrow morning. The rest will be up to you. But at least for tonight, I think you should be able to stay in the infirmary.

“Then, I believe it would be wise if you and your friends got off this planet.”

Xela nodded again, swallowing hard as she showed herself out.

“Tomorrow morning, then?” she asked, pausing halfway out of the door. The captain nodded.

“Tomorrow morning,” he said, leaning forward with his elbows on the desk and his hands folded in front of his mouth. That was how Xela left him, staring again at the miniature holoscreens on his desk while she went to the elevator, her pace increasing with every step and the lightsaber held tightly in her grip.


	11. Recovery

The Padawan rushed to the infirmary and arrived to find the others waiting outside the door. She fumbled for a moment, then managed to extract the identichips from her robes and hold them up to the sensor near the door. It let out four quick beeps as it registered each woman, and then slid smoothly open to admit them. Xela took up her earlier position, supporting Jesa again as Zita rushed to explain the situation to the human nurse who came to greet them. The woman’s face slipped from a blandly welcoming smile into an aghast expression as Zita spoke, before she bustled to one of the empty beds that lined the edges of the room.

With a practiced hand, she flipped switches and pressed buttons on the instruments that sat beside the bed while Xela and Ignae hauled Jesa towards the mattress. The Gray Jedi barely seemed conscious, and offered no resistance as the pair lowered her awkwardly onto the bed, struggling to be gentle. Xela carefully arranged Jesa’s feet on the blankets before stepping back to watch the nurse’s clever hands flutter about the Gray Jedi’s face, shining a light into one lolling eye and then the other.

She winced as the woman inserted a needle into the crook of Jesa’s arm and taped it in place, allowing liquids to drip down a long tube into Jesa’s body. She had to struggle not to flinch as the nurse peeled back Jesa’s sleeves up to her shoulders, revealing mottled, ragged burns that were weeping a clear liquid around the blistered skin. Then she was glad for Zita’s steadying hand on her shoulder when the nurse began to spread a yellowish ointment across the worst of the injuries, causing the Gray Jedi to stiffen in her sleep. Finally, Jesa’s arms were wrapped in clean, starchy bandages, and it wasn’t long until the blackened skin was completely hidden beneath swaths of white. The nurse finished by unrolling a spare blanket from beneath the bed and tucking it around Jesa’s legs, careful not to move her too much. Stepping back with a sigh, she turned towards the three women standing at the end of the bed and approached them, tugging off the rubber gloves she wore as she walked.

“She’s lucky,” the nurse said with a wayward glance back towards Jesa. “Although it’s too soon to tell, the worst of her injuries were just on her arms, and so far she’s not showing signs of electrical shock or internal bleeding. Still, she’s in for a long day.”

“We’ll stay with her,” said Ignae with decision, and the other two nodded. The woman’s tiny smile lit up her rounded face, and her eyes were warm beneath a wistful sheen. Xela wondered how many other bedside visitors she had seen through the darkest of nights.

But “I’ll go get you some chairs,” was all she said.

As she vanished into a closet just behind her desk, Xela let her eyes range sluggishly around the room. There were narrow, rectangular windows that stretched along the length of the infirmary, just large enough to let in some natural light, while also thin enough that a person slightly smaller than a human would not have been able to wriggle through. The sunlight that entered the room was still the vibrant yellow of early morning as they clustered around Jesa’s bed; watching her breathe and smelling the metallic scent of whatever cleaner was used on the prison’s sheets. They didn’t talk much, although Xela took the time to inform them that the captain would be messaging them later to help with the Botcher case. Zita and Ignae nodded in silent acknowledgement, and then they fell back into quiet as the nurse returned, carrying three rickety stools that could be folded up and carried as one wished. They accepted them gratefully, and set the seats up in a small semicircle by Jesa’s head, trying not to crowd her. Then the nurse left them to their vigil, only drifting back to Jesa’s bedside on occasion to check her liquid drip and to track her vitals. Xela wasn’t sure exactly when, but she returned once with a pitcher of water and some plastic cups too, which she set on the bedside table as the room warmed.

Jesa, meanwhile, slept deeply, but not soundly. She shivered under the blanket even though her forehead was slick with sweat, and tiny whimpers wormed out of her whenever she moved. Watching her face, Xela dreaded to think what her subconscious was replaying for her, given the fodder it had received in the past few days. Every time Jesa’s sleeping brow furrowed, or she murmured unintelligible words, Xela couldn’t help but think that the Gray Jedi must be back on that table. It wasn’t long before the Padawan couldn’t stand to look at her anymore, feeling the electricity in her memory as it condemned her, over and over again in a slow mantra. _You did this. You did this. You did this._

Xela walked. She made circuits up and down the length of the infirmary, soon working the timing into a rhythm where she would sit at Jesa’s side for 15 minutes, and then pace for two. Only two other beds were occupied, one with a Rodian who retched into a bucket every half hour or so, and the other with a scarred man sporting a fresh bandage around his head, covering one eye. His other tracked Xela every time she made her short pilgrimage by his resting place.

Finally, perhaps around the sixth or seventh time she made to rise from her chair, Zita placed her hand on Xela’s thigh, pulling her back down. Sighing, the Padawan let herself sink back onto the stool, only shifting a little to ease the numbness in her lower half. Igane leaned over from Xela’s other side to rest her head on Xela’s shoulder.

“She’s going to be alright,” Zita said softly, and Xela sagged in her chair.

“She will,” she replied, not sure if she was stating a fact or asking a question.

“She will,” Ignae said firmly, her thick hair tumbling down Xela’s back. She seemed about to say something else, when Jesa shuddered violently under the blanket.

The other three all leapt to their feet as she twitched, her eyes darting beneath their lids before fluttering open. Jesa blinked slowly in the sudden light, squinting as she tried to raise herself up on the pillows-- only to hiss when she moved her arms, and slide back down. A small moan escaped her and she shut her eyes tightly, as if trying to block everything out. But when she opened them again, she seemed just lucid enough to register her surroundings.

“You’re awake!” Ignae cried out at last, unsuccessfully keeping her voice low enough to avoid disturbing the other patients. “How are you feeling?”

Jesa let out a puff of air from her nose that in another situation might have been a dry laugh. “Well,” she said with a tight smile that looked more like a grimace, “I can’t say that this has been the best excursion I’ve ever taken.” She coughed a little before letting her head rest back against the pillow. At first Xela thought that was all she was going to say, but it seemed that her recent experiences had loosened her tongue, tearing down some of the walls around her. “Ugh. This is not at all how I thought this mission would go.”

“Mission?” Zita raised an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you had some secret too; we don’t need any more of that.”

“Secret?” Jesa asked. “Who else has a secret?”

“Oh, I do, but I can explain it all to you later,” Ignae interjected, waving her hand as though her story was entirely laughable. “Basically, the Botcher is after me and we have to figure out what to do about that-- but you come first. What’s this about a mission?” Surprised, but perhaps too tired to care, Jesa nodded blearily along with Ingae’s confession. “Oh! But you just woke up, we don’t have to talk about all this now, you should rest first--” said Ignae, but Jesa shook her head.

“No, it’s fine, I don’t want to sleep again. And given how deep this goes, maybe you should all know.

“It wasn’t an official thing,” she began before she sighed and shifted around, seeming to search for a more comfortable position. “In the past few years, there’s been some growing unease within the Force. Many sensed that the change came from movement in the Dark side, but it was murky to most, and too dim to even tell much of a difference. Even to those on the Jedi Council,” she added, with an apologetic look towards Xela. “However, as one who walks between the light and dark, I was able to feel a more poignant shift. And I… well, I still have a few contacts within the Order, and one of them asked me to investigate the changes we were feeling. They needed to know where it was coming from, and had felt some stirrings from Naboo earlier this year. So I was sent, strictly to observe and report back. But it looks like I found the source we talked about earlier, huh?”

This last question was tossed offhandedly to Xela, but the Padawan felt her stomach twist as she remembered the context of their last conversation. Had she really been so naive as to accuse Jesa of being on the Dark side? Having now felt its true power, albeit secondhand, she couldn’t believe that she had ever thought Jesa was the same as that malevolent presence. The difference was like sitting by a campfire versus being thrown into the middle of a star.

Looking down at her knitted hands, she said “Yeah, I guess you did.”

The silence between them thickened until it was like a physical entity, pressing on Xela’s chest and stopping up her throat. The longer it went, the more she felt like she couldn’t bring up everything she felt she needed to say, like the moment was slipping away forever and she could never fix this--

“Ignae,” said Zita, nudging the girl’s elbow as she looked between the two Jedi. “I think we’d better make sure we don’t have any paperwork or anything to fill out to be here tonight. Litigations and stuff.”

“What? Oh, I mean, yeah, I’d definitely rather deal with that sooner rather than later,” Ignae said, a slow dawning crossing her face. As the trader pulled her away, Ignae touched Xela’s shoulder, giving her an encouraging nod. As they walked away, Xela felt her stomach pitch with a sudden panic at being left alone with Jesa.

“I--” she began, looking up hesitantly into the Gray Jedi’s face, thinking how completely out of place she looked lying in the hospital bed. “I’m glad you’re, you know, doing better,” she stuttered, hating herself and every word she said. “How are you?” She cringed internally at the repeated question, but the words she needed just wouldn’t come, they were sticking in her throat. But Jesa seemed to actually give the question some consideration, looking back at Xela with an unreadable expression.

“Well,” she said at last, “It’s not every day someone ransacks your head for information on your friends. So I guess in light of that, I’m doing pretty well.”

“Mm,” Xela gave a noncommittal murmur. A beat passed, then she asked “Are you lying to me?” Jesa looked down at her arms, at the bandages wrapped around them. Xela wondered if they ever stopped hurting.

“Maybe,” said Jesa. “But I don’t think I could explain it to you either, even if I wanted to.” Xela nodded, looking back at her boots.

“What if… I said that you didn’t need to?” she asked.

“What?”

“I just--” Xela suddenly knelt by the bed, putting herself down at Jesa’s eye level. “I know what it was like. The first part, at least-- and the second part--” this was worse, what was she doing? She stopped herself, and said “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry; you were only caught because of me, I sent you to the King, and to that, _that man_ \--” Jesa frowned, listening to the mess that was tumbling from Xela’s mouth.

“You know about the king?” she said. “We were alone.”

“No no, you were never, never alone,” Xela rushed to assure her. “I saw you, I was there the whole time.” She wanted to take one of Jesa’s hands, but feared that she would hurt her. Instead, she left her hands lying on the mattress, hardly an inch from where Jesa’s fingers peeked from beneath the bandages. Xela bowed her head with a groan. “I’m doing this all wrong. I’m just sorry. For everything. For what I said, for leaving you, even for yelling at you that night before the records hall--”

“You didn’t yell at me.”

Xela looked up, halted mid-sentence.

“I didn’t?” she asked, thrown to have her rush of apologies interrupted.

“No,” Jesa said, shaking her head. “And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry I lost my temper that night. It wasn’t fair to you to handle that all at once.” Xela looked back down, shame prickling in her cheeks.

“But still-- All this could have been avoided, if I’d just-- Let you be as you are. We’re different, and…” Xela trailed off, shifting on her knees a little bit. In the back of her mind, they were beginning to smart on the tiled floor as Jesa tilted her head, waiting for Xela to finish. Xela, meanwhile, didn’t miss how Jesa’s fingers were curling into fists, squeezing back against the pain that was surely needling her skin with every passing moment. “And that’s ok,” she finished bluntly. “You don’t owe me, or anyone else, any explanations. Least of all me,” she took a shuddering breath, gathering her courage to meet Jesa’s shadowed gaze. “You don’t have to tell me anything about you, or why you do what you do-- but I’d like to know. If you’ll let me listen.” At first Jesa said nothing, her eyes traveling thoughtfully over Xela’s face and lingering where their eyes met.

“You’ll listen?” she asked.

“As long as you want to talk.”

Jesa smiled, a tiny light flaring behind her exhaustion. “I’d like that,” she said, and Xela felt the corners of her mouth tug to mirror the Gray Jedi’s.

“Well ok,” Xela nodded. They stayed peacefully together for a moment, and Xela felt as though a tension that had dogged her steps since the guards in the square was finally seeping away, leaving her drained, but lighter.

“I mean, after you rest, of course,” she said suddenly.

“Oh, of course, it’s been a long day--”

“A long couple days; you need to recover--”

“Yeah. So.” They stumbled over each other, finally grating to a halt.

“I’m glad you’re ok,” Xela said quietly, one more time.

“Thanks,” said Jesa, letting herself slide a little further back onto the bed. That was when Xela heard footsteps approaching behind her, and Jesa’s eyes moved languidly up to a point just over her left shoulder. “Welcome back,” she said.

“You two… work everything out?” said Zita’s voice, trying to disguise her interest and failing.

“Yeah,” Xela said, still looking at Jesa’s face. “We’re actually good this time. Now you, sleep,” she ordered, standing up on wobbling legs.

“Yeah, that sounds good,” sighed Jesa, closing her eyes as Xela stepped away.

“Come on, let’s give her space,” said Ignae, reaching out to turn Xela towards her and Zita. “The nurse has some snacks at her desk, and I _know_ you haven’t eaten today.” The Padawan allowed herself to be led away, turning back only once to see the steady rise and fall of Jesa’s breathing as she slipped back into the arms of sleep.

 

* * *

 

The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur, fast and slow all at once. After they’d eaten, Xela, Zita, and Ignae gathered their stools and set them up at one end of the infirmary. They didn’t want to bother the patients while they talked, but they also made sure to stay close enough to keep an eye on Jesa. Zita and Xela badgered Ignae for more about her well, but she adamantly refused to discuss any of it without the Gray Jedi awake and involved. With little else to discuss, the conversation turned to the topic of the Bounty Botcher and how best to help the captain arrest him. However, they didn’t actually have any information about the mission from the captain, so their ideas steadily became wilder and wilder until they were planning to chase him through the streets of Theed with a herd of trampling nerfs.

In the meantime, whenever Jesa would start to moan and twist in her sleep, Ignae would rush over and mumble soothing words to coax her back into a more restful state. She was oddly good at it, Xela thought as Ignae once again rose to work her magic. Could this mysterious well have had an effect on the redhead, granting her an awareness that even Jesa and Xela could only guess at? Whatever the case, Xela was grateful that Jesa was finally being taken care of. The nurse came and went periodically as well, occasionally changing the IV or replacing her patient’s bandages. Eventually, she sent the group down the the main floor, insisting that they stop at the officer’s cafeteria and eat. When they protested, she reiterated once again that hovering over Jesa would do nothing good, and that she would watch over her until they came back. So they wandered through identical hallway after identical hallway, passing officers too busy to talk to them. But after a period of time, they found the cafeteria, serving bland flood that only seemed to come in varying shades of gray. Xela couldn’t tell if everything she ate actually tasted like cardboard, or if it just seemed that way to in her sleep-addled brain. In the end, they brought up two thick slices of bread and a piece of fruit that Xela couldn’t identify for Jesa, but she was still soundly asleep by the time they returned.

Their waiting was finally disturbed by a buzz from Zita’s holoscreen. It turned out that the captain was better than his word; that evening, while the sun bathed the room in bars of golden light, a transmission came through to the infirmary. Xela passingly hoped that the man had gone home for the night as they pulled up the transmission-- he’d had an equally long day, and the handsome man from the holoscreen was probably missing him. For their own part, the three women brought their holoscreen to Jesa’s bedside, where the Gray Jedi was finally awake and nibbling on the bread they’d brought. Xela still thought that she seemed a bit peaked, and saw how Jesa moved her arms sparingly, doing her best to touch them as little as possible. But her eyes were brighter than before, and she watched them approach her with an alert, astute interest.

“So, we didn’t mention it before, but we had to make a deal with the captain to help ensure that we could clear our names as fast as possible,” said Zita by way of introduction, pulling up one of the stools they had pushed aside when they left. “We promised to help him capture Eugene, and he said he would expedite our cases.”

“That hardly seems like downside, to be honest,” Jesa said as Ignae and Xela sat down too. “I’d be lying if I said putting that man behind bars didn’t have a certain appeal.”

“Seconded,” Ignae said, raising her hand. “Plus, this’ll be much easier when we only have to look for him, instead of looking over our own shoulders every five minutes.”

Zita nodded. “True, and I think that might be why the Captain’s giving us this chance anyways. The guards are stretched too thin as it is with the Festival, but he’d be a fool to let this chance to nab the Botcher slip away. I mean, it’s like he’s not even trying to be subtle,” she said with disgust. She leaned forward to put her holoscreen on Jesa’s bed, balancing it against one of the Gray Jedi’s legs so that they could all see the screen. “This came in yesterday, “ she said, enlarging a grainy photo of Eugene in some kind of shop. “Apparently he used his credit chip under one of his flagged aliases. Guess he wasn’t paying attention to what name’s been compromised where,” she muttered, looking down at his grainy face.

“Hey, I know that place,” said Ignae, looking down at the counter at which the Botcher stood. “We passed that store the first day we came, d’you remember?” she asked, nudging Xela.

She nodded, “I think so-- but we didn’t go in, did we?”

“No,” Ignae admitted, “But only because it was way out of either of our price ranges. Eugene doesn’t like to be thrifty, does he?”

“I guess I wouldn’t either, not if I thought I had a lot of money coming in shortly,” said Jesa, now working her way through the neon orange fruit in her hand.

“So you think he’s still after me?” said Ignae, somehow only sounding mildly concerned.

“Why not? I’m not sure why he’d stay, otherwise,” replied the Gray Jedi.

“Well great, all the more incentive to nail him before he tries anything else stupid,” said Xela already fantasizing of the moment when they could repay him in kind for all their trouble. “Do we know where he’s staying?”

“Mm, the captain’s got nothing on that,” Zita said, shaking her head. “Overtaxed force, remember?”

“But at least we know he’s in this quarter of this city,” Ignae added, exiting out of the security footage of Eugene and opening up a map of the city, where she highlighted a couple of blocks in the southern corner.

“We don’t have time to comb every inn and bar down there, though,” said Xela. “Especially if the--” her voice rasped in her throat as she continued, “hooded man starts his crack-down on the cheaper parts of the city.” She didn’t miss how Jesa stilled under the cover, her fingers twitching as though they were once again straining against manacles.

“Well, maybe we don’t need to,” said Zita, gazing fixedly at the map. “The rumor mill’s worked against us thus far, maybe now we can use it to do some good.” She looked up at the rest of them, holding their gazes. “We know what he wants, so let’s give it to him.”

For a moment there was nothing but silence.

Xela blinked at her a few times. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” she asked incredulously. “You really want to use Ignae as bait to draw him out?”

After her initial surprise, Ignae shrugged. “I’d be up for it, he doesn’t seem all that threatening in person. And, I mean, even if he is dangerous, I trust all of you to keep me safe and nab him.”

“Plus I’m not planning to stick her out there alone with a flashing sign that says ‘Magic Well’ or anything,” added Zita. “I’m just saying that we can use the rumors concerning her to get his attention.”

“I guess, if you’re ok with it…” Xela said doubtfully, glancing at Ignae. “But doesn’t that still mean we need to know where he is, to make sure he’s picking up what we’re putting down?” she asked, leaning forward to put her elbows on her knees.

“Not necessarily,” said Zita, her face calculating. “Not if we do this right, and do it carefully. Here, take a look at this.” She scrolled back through her holoscreen, producing a list with names and addresses, none of which Xela recognized. “These are the Botcher’s known associates on Naboo-- not necessarily criminal, but those he’s been seen with most often. If anyone wanted his services--” she wrinkled her nose, “--doubtful, but still, then they’d go to these people.”

“Yeah? So?” asked Xela, her eyes flicking cursorily over the list.

“Then one might also go to them if, say, they wanted to make sure he’s taking information from sources he’d be sure to trust,” said Jesa.

“Exactly,” said Zita, her eyes glittering under the lights. “We get to just a few of these people, maybe three or four, tops, if we want to avoid suspicion--”

“Then we get to him,” said Ignae, her grin sharp. “Personally, I’d nominate these four,” she said, swiping along the screen and tapping as series of the names on the list. “I’ve got a good feeling about them.”

“For once, we agree,” said Zita with a nod. “These ones seem to be his most public associates, and are members of the black market. Of course, we don’t want any of them tipping him off that we’re the ones nudging him in the right direction, so I think that’ll be up to you,” she said, looking to Xela. “If you can give them some light… suggestions, without out-right manipulating them and hide your identity, that’d be the best way to go.”

“So, no pressure or anything,” Xela muttered, nerves already flickering in her chest, as well as some qualms that she struggled to shove down. Is this how a Jedi would behave? Probably not, but if you wanted to catch a liar and a kidnapper, maybe you had to be a little bit like both. Only for a while, she told herself, actively trying to push Master Ki-Adi-Mundi’s face from where it hovered in her mind’s eye.

“I can come with you.” Xela jerked her head up to see Jesa, her eyes steely over the purple shadows beneath them.

“What? No, you just lived through a near-death experience, and barely at that,” Xela snapped. Instantly regretting it, she softened her tone and said, “You need to rest. Recover. I’ve got this.” Not perturbed in the slightest, Jesa shook her head.

“Doing what I can to help get Eugene is better than any bedrest. You don’t have to do this alone.” Xela snorted, a potent mix between incredulity and anxiety simmering in her stomach.

“Funny you should be the one to say that. Seriously, you were getting--” she couldn’t bring herself to clarify. “ _You know_ , not 12 hours ago, and you’re already ready to dive right back in? Come on Ignae, you know that’s not good-- Zita?” Xela turned to the other two, appealing to them.

Ignae frowned, examining Jesa critically. “Xela’s right; no offense Jesa, but you don’t exactly look like you’re in any condition to move, let alone hunt someone down through the streets.”

“But shouldn’t that be for me to decide?” argued Jesa, quietly insistent. “I know my limits. I know what I can and can’t do. Trust me, I can help.” Xela couldn’t help the skeptical huff that escaped her, she was still vaguely stunned that they were even having this conversation.

“Zita, _please_ ,” she said, turning towards Zita, and not entirely sure when they’d started looking to the trader as the deciding factor between them. The white-jacketed woman reached out and slowly pocketed the holoscreen, sighing as she thought.

“Xela, these men are scattered throughout this sector,” she said slowly. “I don’t doubt your abilities, only that one person can manage to hit all of them in the time frame we have. And if there’s anything we know now, it’s that we’re better together.” She looked back to Jesa, who straightened in bed.

“How soon do you think you’ll be able to walk?” Zita asked, as if she was asking Jesa how long she’d need to drop off a shipment across the city.

“Give me until tomorrow morning, and I’ll manage,” said Jesa firmly.

“Good,” said Zita, her eyes fixing the Gray Jedi with a hard stare. “But if any one of us thinks you’re pushing too much, then we’re bailing out immediately. End of discussion.”

Ignae’s face tightened with worry, but she kept quiet, and Xela followed suit. She wanted to protest that even _wanting_ to go out was pushing too hard, but she could feel the determination rolling off of Jesa in waves; her desire to act was winning out over her need to rest. Knowing Jesa’s stubborn persistence was being brought to bear, Xela chewed her lower lip and assuaged her conscience with the fact that Jesa never be left alone. Hopefully, it would be enough to keep an eye on her.

Meanwhile, the woman in question nodded her head, responding to Zita’s ultimatum. “Fine, it’s done,” she said., Zita nodded, and moved on.

“So, if Xela and Jesa can deliver our messages tomorrow morning, that’ll leave you and me to prepare for Eugene the day after that,” said Zita to Ignae, her voice contemplative. “Pick our meeting point, and whatnot. We should go scope out a couple exit routes tomorrow too; see if we can’t find ways you’ll feel confident in navigating-- and are a bit more on the defensible side. Not that I think we’ll run into any trouble, since it’s just the Botcher, but it never hurts to be prepared.”

“That’s quite the combination. Should we be ready to count on support from the guards?” asked Ignae, twisting from side to side to stretch her back. Zita shook her head.

“I wouldn’t. I think they’re giving us a leg up as it is by letting us do as we will with impunity.”

“Alright. Good to know that’s where we’re at,” said Ignae, seeming further intrigued by the thought of being offered up as bait without any guarantee of help from the law.

“Indeed,” said Zita typically taciturn but not unkind. “So, are we all clear on our roles?” At the others’ determined nods, she clapped her hands and said “Good. Then let’s get to work.”


	12. Ready and Waiting

“Oh! Stars sir, sorry, excuse me,” Xela gushed, pushing herself off of the shoulder of the teal-skinned Duro she had just stumbled into. The battered innkeeper frowned at her, his flat, red eyes crinkling sourly as he reached out a rough hand to help set her back on her feet.

“We have a ‘no cloaks’ policy, girl,” he grumbled, his voice snide and lilting with a slight accent around his Basic vowels.

“Oh, do you?” Xela asked, oozing with innocent confusion even as she tugged her cowl a little lower around her face. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know-- but I promise I was just leaving anyways, please accept my deepest apologies.” She folded her hands gratefully before her as she bowed herself out, all the while humbly mumbling her pardons. As she turned away, she could just see Jesa over the Duro’s shoulder, wrapped in a matching cloak that blended into the bar’s shadows. Xela almost thought she could hear Jesa speaking, her voice so low and indistinct that it was almost like a constant buzz of static beneath the conversation between her and the innkeeper, and barely discernible from the hum of the other patrons.

“Then get on with it, and make way for actual, _paying_ customers,” the creature groused behind her, drawing Xela’s attention back to him while paying Jesa no heed. He was more intent on getting the last word as Xela pushed through the busy taproom, heading for the door.

Just as she reached it, she retorted, “Fine, there’s more excitement at Clarion Circle anyways.” She said it just loud enough that she was sure he would hear her, simultaneously reaching out through the Force to tap the Duro’s mind, emphasizing ‘Clarion Circle’ as spoke. It wasn’t much, but hopefully Jesa had been able to do the rest while she and the proprietor had been talking. Taking satisfaction from the dirty look he threw her way, Xela pressed the button next to the door of the inn and slid out into the sunlight, away from the mildewed stench and dim atmosphere of the taproom. Glancing up and down the street, she crossed the street and walked a block or so towards the South, finally stopping at the foot of a statue of a Cerean female, who looked alarmingly like her master.

Ignoring the prickles of disquiet this thought awakened, Xela waited by the statue for a short while, pacing until she saw Jesa appear out of the same street she had come from. Hurrying to meet the Gray Jedi, Xela fell into step beside her as they slunk around a corner, already sweating a bit in the mid-morning warmth beneath their heavy robes.

“That sculag,” she said bitterly, “There was never any rule about cloaks in hotels. I bet he made that up right then, just to be difficult.”

“Mmhm,” replied Jesa in noncommittal sympathy, her pace slowing the farther they got from the statue.

“Right?” said Xela. “But at least the fact that he’s such a stickler makes me feel less bad about setting him up, even if it’s not really going to affect him in the end. Do you think you got it?”

“Yeah. Yeah, everything went fine,” Jesa said, her breathing deepening as she spoke. “I think he’ll tell Eugene everything he heard today, even if he’s not sure exactly how he heard it.” A gratified note crept into her voice between breaths, softening its ragged edges.

“And how are you doing? You ok?” asked Xela as they crossed a low bridge, the sun sparkling glaringly off of the water and into her eyes.

“Mm. I’m fine,” Jesa said, her flat affect belying her words. “I’m just glad he’s the last one we had to hit. I’m not sure I can handle any more surly barkeeps today.”

“That’s fine,” Xela said gently, “I think we did good.” In spite of her exhaustion, Jesa cast her an amused glance.

“I’m not some fragile little thing, Xela. You don’t have to… tiptoe around me like this.”

Flushing, and glad that the obnoxious robes hid it, Xela said “No, I know you are; I know you’re perfectly capable and everything, I just-- I guess I feel responsible, that’s all.” A low chuckle tripped it’s way to her ears, so different from the one that Xela had heard in her dreams last night before electricity rippled over her.

“I appreciate that, young Padawan,” Jesa said, her tone lightly teasing. Then it took on a more earnest tint as she said, “I really do. But honestly, I’m going to be fine, and I think this’ll go better for both of us if we don’t bring our baggage every time we talk. You just need to relax, ok?” Xela kept silent for a minute, considering Jesa’s words as they turned another corner, the imposing walls of the jail rearing before them at the mouth of the street.

“You know I’ve never relaxed a day in my life, right?” she finally said. Jesa snickered as they swerved away from the main gates, this time heading towards the eastern wall, where there was a significantly more modest visitor’s entrance.

“What, does the Code not allow down time?” she asked.

Grinning, Xela replied “Yeah. Turns out real Jedi have actually realized they don’t need to sleep. Once you become a Master, you transcend physical needs and live off of the pursuit of JUSTICE.” Reaching ahead of the Gray Jedi, she swiped her identichip next to the door and yanked it open at it’s encouraging beep.

Laughing, Jesa said “Oh stars, do the Trials call for all Padawans to be this pretentious? Or does it just come naturally for you?”

“What are you talking about? This is 100%, pure Jedi righteousness.”

“Frag, there’ll be no living with you after this, will there?”

“Oh no, absolutely not.”

They tossed back their hoods as they walked through the visitor’s waiting area, waving cheerily at the guard sitting behind a glass window to the right of a bland, steel door at the back of the room. The fresh air breathed across Xela’s damp skin after the oppressive heat of the cloak, and Xela tugged up her hair to cool the back of her neck. After scanning their ID chips again, the guard waved them through the door, which unlocked with the grating sound of a buzzer and an audible click. They walked together past a series of windows, with one chair set up on each side of the glass and comms in the center. However, visiting hours had not yet arrived, so the room was despondently quiet as they passed through, heading down another locked hallway until they reached the elevator. Stepping into it, Xela marveled at how different these halls seemed now-- of course, still sterile and pragmatic in their cleanliness, but no longer did they seem so unfriendly. In fact, after their nights of ducking through the streets and their mad rush to rescue Jesa, the prison almost seemed comfortingly orderly. Safe.

The doors opened with a merry ding, and Jesa and Xela exited onto a floor just beneath the infirmary. After spending the night in the hospital, the nurse had declared with surprise that Jesa was well enough to do without constant supervision. Then a quick message to the Captain had allowed them to borrow a disused room close to the guard’s locker room, giving them a quiet space to plan and be out of the way. It was here that the two Jedi now returned to, the door sliding open without a code or ID scan-- in the end, none of them had thought they had needed an outside lock, and all abhorred the idea of being potentially shut in. Too many of the prison’s doors only locked from the outside for their comfort. As they entered, both Ignae and Zita glanced up at them, their faces wary. But as soon as they recognized their companions, Ignae’s expression melted into a smile, and Zita’s eyebrows rose in expectation.

“Well?” she asked.

“What, no hello?” quipped Jesa wearily, even as she stumbled towards the corner they had transformed into their sleeping space, and sank gratefully onto the sparse prison blankets.

“Hello,” Zita said, ignoring Ignae’s chuckle, “So, how did it go?”

“It was all fine, no one suspected a thing,” said Xela, leaving the door to join Zita at the small table she sat at. “At least, as far as we know. Guess we’ll see tomorrow,” she shrugged.

“Hm,” Zita hummed, leaning back in her chair-- Xela knew how she hated variables. Especially ones that were critical to their entire plan.

“Well, what about you?” she asked, in no hurry to let the room fall to silence. “You guys find what you were looking for?”

“Oh, yeah,” Ignae said from where she sat against the wall, lounging in the space between where they would sleep that night and the the round table. “We were right about Clarion Circle, it really will be perfect. There’s lots of vantage points for you guys on the rooftops, and I’m a particular fan of Setkan Street; it runs into this devious little network towards the cliffs-- If things go south, I feel great about going there.”

“As she said,” said Zita with a nod.

“Great!” said Xela, exuberant before she deflated a little. “But that just means we have the rest of the day to kill, don’t we? Until-- Around when?” she asked, turning towards Zita.

“Noon,” said Zita, Jesa, and Ignae together.

Raising her hands in surrender, Xela said, “Right, right, noon, gotcha, I promise I’ll get it this time.”

“That’s what you said last time,” came Jesa’s soft voice.

“And I completely meant it-- Last time,” Xela replied, heaving herself from the chair and ambling towards the wall opposite Ignae. She slide down the wall’s face to crouch on the balls of her feet, the black tiles gleaming around her hands as she eventually sat, cool and clean against her palms.

“Ah, so this time’ll be different, for sure,” Jesa said from where she sat, cross-legged, her eyes shut peacefully and her hands perched atop her knees.

“Aren’t you supposed to be resting or something?” Xela said testily, but without any real bite.

“I would, if someone wasn’t feeling so chatty,” Jesa said, opening one eye to glance towards the Padawan.

“Well-- Oh,” Xela clapped a hand over her mouth. “Sorry,” she said, mumbling between her fingers. Jesa’s mouth quirked in a one-sided grin before she shut her eyes again, relaxing into a meditative position. Ignae laughed, her arms hanging loosely around her bent legs.

“You’re way too easy to rib, you know that, right?” the traveller said, her hands toying with the chain around her neck.

“Yeah, I know,” Xela said ruefully, “Though I prefer to think of myself as… earnest.”

“Why not both?” said Ignae, now reaching into her pocket. Producing a small, , opaque red ball that fit easily in her palm, Ignae tossed it across the room to Xela, who caught it one-handed.

“Touché,” she replied, bouncing the ball against the floor before throwing it back to Ignae.

At first the game was simple as the two women continued to toss the ball between them in quiet contentment. Then they started moving a bit faster, trying to hold the ball for as little time as possible, bouncing it off the ceiling and walls in increasingly unlikely trickshots, and goading each other whenever they fumbled. Zita occasionally watched them with a bemused expression before rolling her eyes and looking back towards her notes and diagrams of Clarion Circle. Finally, Xela almost laughed aloud when Ignae held up a hand to halt the Padawan’s next throw, and, with a devilish grin, lay one hand across her eyes. Xela allowed for some slow practice throws to begin with, but it wasn’t long before she was indiscriminately pelting the ball at the redhead-- who caught it every time, without fail.

Laughing, Ignae finally uncovered her eyes at Xela’s noises of increasing disbelief, her eyes glinting with mischief. “Who even are you?” asked Xela, both delighted and incredulous. “And how, how how HOW, did the Jedi not pick you up when you were young? You were practically made to be a Jedi Knight-- or whatever else you want to be,” she said, with a hurried look towards Jesa.

“Thank you,” said the Gray Jedi from where she sat, without opening her eyes.

Rolling the ball thoughtfully over the backs of her fingers, Ignae watched it sway back and forth over the fine bones of her hand, the red coloring stark against her pale skin. “That, “ she said, “is a very good question.” Realizing that the other three were waiting for more of an explanation, she continued. “I don’t know if I really ever was Force sensitive as a child, although I guess you could say I am now. Does the Force grow in you as you get older?” She shrugged. “Anyway, even though I think the Jedi probably did find us, my parents didn’t want that life for me. We’ve always had free spirits, so instead of going with the Order, we often traveled together around the galaxy. It was that, and my parents, that helped me develop my love of exploration and discovery.”

Xela laughed, “As if you needed any help with that one.”

Ignae grinned back, tossing the ball in a gentle arc over her head. “Maybe so, but still-- I owe them a lot. Actually, the earliest memory I have isn’t even of my home planet,” she said, her eyes glazing over as she looked back into her memory. “It’s of the inside of a cockpit, with my mother’s arms around me, piloting us past the Andromeda Galaxy.” Xela stilled, looking at Ignae’s wistful expression. “It was one of the most beautiful things I’d ever seen,” she murmured, her mind as far away as the galaxy of which she spoke, so that Xela could almost picture the stars twinkling in a younger Ignae’s eyes. Then Ignae shook herself, and looked brightly back to the Padawan, tossing her the ball in a series of small bounces across the floor. Xela caught it just as the bounces were tapering off into a jittery roll, scooping it into her palm.

“Your mother sounds wonderful,” she sighed, hoping she wasn’t coming off as condescending. “It almost makes me wish I’d seen more of my parents.”

“You really didn’t know them?” asked Ignae, sounding surprised as she caught Xela’s ricocheted throw from the wall behind her. Xela opened her mouth to respond, for once feeling shy. She didn’t want Ignae to pity her, she was happy with her path and where it had taken her-- and how her parents had set her on it.

“None of the Jedi really do,” said Jesa, sparing Xela. Ignae looked towards the Gray Jedi after bouncing the ball off her knee and down from the ceiling towards Xela’s waiting hand. Jesa’s eyes were still closed and her face smooth as she spoke. “When younglings with the potential to become Jedi are found, it’s usually at a very young age, and once we’re taken--recruited-- the Order becomes our new family. It helps with the whole ‘enlightened detachment’ thing.” Hearing it from Jesa’s mouth, Xela felt  a tiny pit opening in her stomach. It was one she’d already faced multiple times, usually as she imagined people who looked like her parents walking away into its depths while her master stood behind her, his hand on her shoulder. In her mind, they never looked back. Thinking of it now, reborn from Jesa’s blunt words, the muddled, stale scent of their own bodies seemed multiplied, bordering on oppressive. “You can’t miss what you don’t remember,” said Jesa, “and it’s easy for whatever fills that hole to become someone’s entire life.” Ignae turned back towards Xela, and the Padawan balked to see sympathy ghosting across her face. But for all that, no irate emotion sparked towards Jesa, not when Xela had known this same truth for years.

“It’s hardly anything to get worked up about,” she grumbled instead, pinching the ball between her thumb and forefinger, inspecting it for the tiny twist of light that refracted through its core. “We all had a choice, and if you’ve made it as far as we have, then you obviously made the right one.” She pitched the ball towards the end of the room in a violent overhand throw and watched it spin off the wall, then the ceiling, then the table, expecting it to fly straight to Ignae. But instead, she gasped as the ball shot from the traitorous table ledge right towards Jesa’s head, so fast that even she struggled to track it. “Jes--” she started to say, before the woman tipped her head slightly forward, and the ball soared right past her, barely ruffling a hair in her ponytail. But before any of them had time to even think of breathing a sigh of relief, the little red orb rebounded in the corner and arced over their heads, falling down to smack against Zita’s ear.

The trader gave an uncharacteristic yelp as her hand flew to her ear. The ball rolled away beneath the table, as if ducking for cover. Xela froze, darting glances towards Ignae as Zita’s head turned towards them with a slow, exaggerated menace. Although she spoke not a word, Xela wondered if there was time for her to make a break for the door.

“Xela did it,” Ignae said, pointing at the Padawan.

“What?!” cried Xela, her head whipping from Zita’s expression to Ignae’s outstretched hand. “But it’s your ball!”

“Yeah, but not my throw,” said Ignae.

“I’m going to kill you,” said Xela. “And you, stop laughing!” The last was directed towards Jesa, from whom a badly suppressed chuckle was skipping around the room. Then Xela’s head turned back towards Zita at the sound of the other woman’s voice.

“If you’re all feeling antsy, then why don’t we put that energy to good use?” she said coldly, standing from the table. “After all, don’t I recall a certain Padawan who has some Trials to take in a matter of days?”

“Yes ma’am,” said Xela in a small voice, standing as Zita moved towards the door. “Sorry, Zita.”

“Come on you two,” the trader ordered, hauling the door open. “We’ve been in this room too long, let’s go.”

“Ugh, fine,” drawled Ignae, rolling to her feet as Jesa followed quietly behind her. “Way to ruin it for the rest of us, Xela.”

“Pft, like this is all my fault,” replied Xela, shuffling out behind them. “I’d call this a team effort, just saying.”

Their sniping was ignored by the white-jacketed woman. “And you-- How’re you doing?” asked Zita as Jesa passed, eyeing the Gray Jedi critically.

“Just fine. I promise, I’m watching myself,” the Jesa said, meeting Zita’s eyes steadily.

“Alright then, this way,” Zita said, herding them out of the room and closing the door with a round, hollow slam.


	13. Wells and Letting Off Steam

Xela imagined that the prison must have two gymnasiums, one for the prisoners and one for the guards during their off hours. This one, she supposed, would have to be the latter.

Beyond the double doors that opened with a well-oiled swish, the four women entered a high-ceilinged, rectangular room, at least long enough that one could have parked three X-wing fighters within it. There was a ring of springy wood around the edges of the room, painted so that it was divided into lanes, and tilted slightly as though it led to the lip of a shallow bowl. The ring cordoned off each corner of the rectangle, creating side-areas filled with different types of equipment. In one corner stood racks of round metal weights, alongside bare metal contraptions meant for exercising different muscles of the body. In the second there hung a cluster of thick punching bags, dangling from the ceiling with heavyset chains while a low shelf with hand wraps and gloves crouched by the wall. The third corner was an open space with the same flooring as the track, and was bordered with mirrors, while the fourth jutted into a long hallway, with small targets perched at the end. As for the center of the room, this space was dominated by a roped-off ring, equally as long as the length of the track. A net could be dropped down the center of it, creating two squares for multiple matches to be fought within it. Beyond the ring, against the far wall, stood racks of practice weapons-- faux spears, wooden staves, practice blades, and watered-down blasters that Xela imagined could double as brass knuckles under duress.

Zita immediately headed for the punching bags, twisting off her jacket and rolling her shoulders as she reached for the hand wraps. Ignae drifted towards the mirrored area, where she settled into a broad stance and began to move through a slow, smooth sequence of movements, somewhere between a dance and a defense. This left Xela and Jesa standing by the doors, breathing in the rank, sweat-stained air.

As the dull thuds of Zita’s pummeling fists against the punching bags reached their ears, Jesa turned to Xela and asked “Want to warm up with me?” At Xela’s mute nod, they crossed over the track together and went around the side of the enclosed ring towards the weapons rack. They each chose a wooden sword, roughly the length of a lightsaber, and mounted the steps to the ropes around the ring. Xela hopped sprightly over the chords, while Jesa ducked between them.

Moving towards the center of their ‘square’, Xela asked “Mirroring, first?” She flexed her fingers around the rubberized grip, still slightly sticky from the hands that had held it before.

“Sure. Then maybe we could work up to some velocities,” said Jesa, tugging her arms out of the sleeves of her overcoat and draping it over one of the corner posts.

“Sounds fine by me,” said Xela, bracing into her ready position. “You start.” Jesa relaxed into the same stance that Xela held, her practice sword perpendicular to the ground and just to the left of her body. She began to step carefully around the ring, forward and backward and in dizzying circles, with Xela matching her step for step, keeping the distance between them.

“A little faster,” Jesa said, picking up her pace. After a moment or two at the increased speed, she then swung her sword for Xela’s head, the wood cracking as the padawan raised her blade to block it. Then Jesa immediately swept for Xela’s midsection, following a sequence Xela knew well. She followed the Gray Jedi’s lead, their blades connecting in the choreographed sequence, staccato and echoing in the quiet room. The weapon’s grip felt softer in her hands as Xela began to breathe harder, unlike the slick, unyielding handle of her lightsaber. The practice blade was lighter too, it sometimes swung wildly in her hands and flew wide. But she adjusted, feeling out the rhythm of moves they had both done tens, hundreds of times before until they were made up of more instinct than memory: Block left, swing under and up right, down, twist around the parry, lunge, retreat, strike high, and begin again. And again. And again, each time faster than the last and with improvised footwork, sliding and lunging around the court.

“Form three,” gasped Xela, catching just at the end of their sequence. Jesa acted accordingly, switching their choreography, her movements tighter and closer to her body. Xela took the transition smoothly, ignoring the steady burn building in her legs and her arms as she breathed, heat creeping from under her tunic. Their speed slowed temporarily as they began the new sequence, increasing again with each repetition. Block left, block right, pivot as though deflecting blaster fire, kneel to block overhead blow, lunge right, duck low, begin again. They cycled through the basics of all the forms in this way, three to one, one to six, six to five; only avoiding form seven as they broke apart and clashed again between sequences, always in movement and always increasing in speed. Xela’s breath rasped in her throat, she could feel sweat gliding across her unbearably hot skin and down her back, but all of this was normal, habitual, her world was narrowing to the ring and the jarring clack of their weapons.

Block the face, slide along the blade, lunge _hard_ switch grip-- “ _Solah_ ,” said Jesa’s voice, distant in Xela’s ears. Instinctively, she halted at the yield word and straightened from her ‘ready’ stance, pacing away from Jesa with her hands on her hips, leaning back as she closed her eyes to breathe. Every muscle in her body screamed sweet relief to be out of the fighting crouch, and sweat stung her eyes as she wiped it away with her sleeve.

Chuckling haggardly, she turned back to see Jesa leaning heavily on one of the posts, stretching her legs out behind her, her hair damp and hanging in strands around her face. “Not bad for an oldster out of training,” Xela said between breaths.

Jesa grinned back savagely. “Not bad for a youngling who barely knows how to hold a blade.”

Leveling her weapon playfully towards the other woman, Xela said “Are those fighting words?”

“I don’t know, are they?”

“Of course they are,” said Xela, her voice prim. “But water first, stars above-- they have to have fountains or something in here, right?” She wheeled around the ring, searching the bare walls for a dispenser.

“Mm, over there,” Jesa said, stretching her back as she nodded towards the shooting range.

“Aw, yes,” Xela muttered to herself, jogging towards the ropes and vaulting over them. They strung taut beneath her weight, swinging her forward as she fell down to the floor. She stumbled as one of her feet caught on the steps, but her momentum carried her, albeit without grace, on towards the miniature fountain. A small shelf stacked with paper cups sat by the dispenser, the paper sticking against her sweaty fingers, and Xela took two of these and filled them with water before going back to the ring. On her way up the stairs, she glanced quickly at the corners where she had last seen Zita and Ignae. Both were where she had left them, with Zita circling the punching bag and alternating between precise jabs and swirling kicks that harkened back to their first meeting with the Botcher; and Ignae-- well, Xela started for a moment to see Ignae walking on her hands, before letting her feet fall backwards so that she landed in a back bend. Shaking her head in bemusement, Xela ducked between the ropes of the ring, taking care not to spill water across the mats.

Crossing beneath the lights to where Jesa stood, she passed the Gray Jedi a cup. “Thanks.” “Of course.” They both drank deeply, savoring their rest while watching Zita relieve her indefatigable energy on the punching bags.

“Someday, I’m going to ask her where she learned to do that,” Xela said, her eyes following the trader.

“When that day comes, you let me know,” agreed Jesa, before wincing. “Ooh, that was a dirty hit. Better ask her where that came from too.”

“Preferably not when she’s in the middle of practice,” Xela said, smiling slightly.

Jesa chuckled, “Oh no, definitely not then. Maybe after, when she’s worn herself out. Speaking of which, you ready to go back at it?”

“Whenever you are,” said Xela, eagerly setting aside the drained cup. The two women walked back to the center of their half of the ring, returning to their ready positions. “Any rules you want to go by?” asked the Padawan, rolling her neck.

Jesa shook her head. “No, let’s do as we would in a normal fight-- and how you’ll have to do for your Trials.”

“Oh. Right. Thanks for the reminder,” Xela deadpanned, feeling a vague tension steal into her shoulders.

“Though I would appreciate it if you’d avoid hitting my arms, if you don’t mind,” said Jesa, raising her weapon. Maybe she knew there wasn’t anything she could do to ease the Padawan’s anxiety when it came to the Trials, and Xela was grateful that she didn’t try.

“Done,” Xela replied, mirroring her and trying to shake off her distraction. “Body shots only.” She took a deep, steadying breath as they faced off, arms poised and eyes focused.

Xela was never comfortable at the beginning of duels; no matter who she was facing, she always felt a slight moment of strain before the fight began in earnest, as though both combatants were playing a silent, waiting game in which they dared the other to make the first move.

It was a game that Xela usually lost. And this time was no exception. She shuffled cautiously towards the Gray Jedi, breaking the distance between them. Then she gave an experimental, one-handed swipe at the Gray Jedi’s head, noting how Jesa ducked cleanly out of the way, much as she had dodged the ball back in their room. No movement wasted. Xela followed by a quick series of angled cuts towards Jesa’s shoulders, swirling the blade before her as she attacked first one side, then the other and back again. Jarring shudders cracked up her arms as Jesa blocked each one, her feet stepping back at a measured pace as Xela advanced. Xela’s blade rebounded and swung over to make her fourth pass, expecting to meet the resistance of a parry, but Jesa instead ducked her sword out of the way and twisted it around Xela’s, catching it in a tight circle and swirling it away from her body. Then, before Xela could disengage and release her weapon, Jesa suddenly drew her own backwards and up above her head with one arm, much like the tail of a scorpion, while the other shot out with a pushing motion. Xela stumbled backwards, shoved by the Force as though she’d been hit by a crate.

Her breath knocked out and struggling to regain her footing, Xela skidded away from Jesa and came to a halt after a few feet, falling clumsily back into the ready position. Jesa did not chase her, but remained low and alert, her body compact and solid, while she waited for Xela to recover.

“Relax,” she said as the Padawan’s shoulders heaved, her chest aching from the blow. “Breathe.”

“Right,” Xela muttered to herself, trying not to wheeze. “Right, relax, ok--” She closed her eyes for a moment, feeling her breath move into her lungs and expand, before gushing back, emptying her out. When she opened them again, her torso still hurt and she was uncomfortably aware of the chill of her damp clothes, but she felt calmer. Prepared.

“Ok,” she said, and burst into a sprint, straight towards Jesa. When she was almost within reach of the other woman’s uncompromising stance, she leapt into the air, giving herself a push with the Force as she flipped over the Gray Jedi, striking down towards her head as she did so.

Jesa dropped to one knee and raised her her sword in an overhead block, swiveling to follow Xela’s trajectory as she went. Xela hit the ground hard and fell forward into a roll, popping back to her feet and immediately pivoting and lunging back towards Jesa, pushing herself to move faster, as fast as she could-- faster than a human should be able to do. She dodged around the Gray Jedi in a series of lunges and slides, raining blows from every angle as she moved. But she couldn’t break the defensive bubble Jesa had built around herself, her third form defense deflecting Xela’s fifth form strikes with a precision that compensated for Xela’s speed. Finally slowing as she ducked under one of Jesa’s counterattacks, Xela changed tactics.

She feinted towards Jesa’s right arm, and as the other Jedi raised her weapon to block it, Xela dropped into a low crouch and instead kicked out with her leg, sweeping the Gray Jedi off her feet. She spun out of the kick as Jesa hit the mat with a low huff, her back colliding with the ground. Seizing the moment, Xela leaped towards Jesa and swung down with a powerful overhead stroke, which Jesa just barely caught on her own sword. For a moment they were locked like that, Jesa’s arms shaking slightly from the brute force Xela was pushing into her blade. Xela leaned into the pressure as Jesa’s arms seemed about to give way, until the Gray Jedi suddenly raised a leg and kicked out, her foot connecting with Xela’s chest. Xela fell back, turning her tumble into a backflip so that she landed on her feet. Meanwhile, Jesa too regained her legs, pushing off her hands from where she lay on her back and jackknifing herself up.

Facing off once more, the two women took a new measure of each other, and Xela couldn’t stop the unbridled grin that spread across her face. Her legs and arms were tingling with weariness and her eyes stung with sweat, but she felt ferociously happy nonetheless. Back at the temple, lightsaber training had been a daily exercise, and a daily struggle. But after a week of reprieve in the city, she hadn’t realized how she had begun to miss it.

Hardly leaving a moment to breathe, Xela rushed back in, blade raised. She lunged hard, extending her sword arm before her, aiming to stab at Jesa’s hands. When Jesa tapped the attack out of the way, Xela dipped low to duck towards her feet, forcing the Gray Jedi to leap out of the way, breaking her roots. Xela stayed in the lunge, twisting up so that her weapon was extended in front of her body as she tucked her other arm behind her, streamlining herself so that the saber protected her as she lunged in. Jesa dodged out of the way, skittering back while Xela followed her with another series of lunges and draw cuts, the movements snapping out with clean execution. She even purposely let the tip of her weapon fall to the mat, bouncing off the floor to speed up in an unlikely shot towards Jesa’s ribcage. The Gray Jedi barely twisted out of the way, strongly blocking the point as it shot past.

“That’s not how a lightsaber works,” she gasped, her words ragged.

“I know,” Xela returned gleefully, pivoting so that she was facing Jesa head-on again, and taking the moment to swing towards the woman’s exposed midsection. Jesa dropped into a low duck, raising her blade so that Xela’s skidded along the edge and leapt off the end, just brushing Jesa’s dark hair. Then Jesa exploded out of the crouch, and Xela had to scramble to get out of the way of the lunge that followed. They traded a flurry of blows, matching each other stroke for stroke as if they were using another sequence-- and perhaps, in a way, they were; as Xela felt them flow between forms two and one, five and three, spinning around the ring as their feet flashed, and the wood creaked in their hands. That is, until they both lunged simultaneously, slipping past each other’s guards until they were almost face-to-face. At the same moment, they extended their hands, pushing with the Force, and both were surprised to see the other do so. Like two repelling magnets, they ricocheted backwards from each other, tumbling to the mats.

For a moment they merely lay as they had landed, stunned. Xela groggily pushed herself up on her elbows to see Jesa raise her head, her face surprised and flushed as she wiped at her eyes. Unable to help herself, Xela broke into peals of delighted laughter, letting the wooden practice sword fall and bounce against the floor. As if her mirth was contagious, Jesa chuckled to herself, also letting her weapon fall to the ground.

Laughter bloomed from the far side of the training area too, and Xela swung her head around to see Ignae watching them, her amusement as infectious as Xela’s. Zita was standing by her side with a twinkle in her eye and a faint grin creeping onto her face.

“Well, up until the end there, I was going to say that you two are pretty impressive fighters,” Zita smirked. “I guess all that Jedi training paid off, huh? You have both the ability to battle effectively _and_ throw each other ridiculously across a room.” She continued grinning as she unwound the tape from her hands, apparently satisfied after her attack on the punching bag.

“Well, what can we say? That’s why we’re the best,” said Jesa, wincing as she lurched to her feet. She walked across the ring and offered Xela her hand, who was still giggling hopelessly on the floor.

“Thanks,” Xela said, hiccuping on the last of her exhilaration as she took Jesa’s hand.

“No problem,” said the other woman, tugging her up-- as she did, Xela noticed a small splotch of red on Jesa’s bandages, like a scarlet inkblot on the cloth.

“Stars, Jesa,” she gasped, gently snatching her wrist and turning it over, looking for more spots. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Oh,” Jesa said, glancing at the dot and curiously watching Xela turn her arm this way and that. “I guess I need to meditate some more.”

“Meditate? Or what about not training right after you’ve been hurt?” fussed Xela. The Gray Jedi shrugged.

“I was having fun.”

“Fun? You nerf-herder, come on, let’s get this cleaned up,” said the Padawan, finally dropping Jesa’s wrist and going to collect their practice swords. Jesa wandered to where she had left her jacket, plucking it off the post before ducking through the ropes, while Xela darted to the weapon’s shelves and back. Ignae and Zita met them by the door, Zita clucking as soon as she caught sight of Jesa’s arms. But Jesa waved her away, claiming she just needed more time to meditate and rest before the next day.

“Fine, but we’re changing those as soon as we get back to the room. They’ll do better if your wraps are clean,” said Zita as they left the gymnasium, the doors closing behind them on an empty room.

~~~

 

Back at the room that Xela had already starting to think of as ‘home,’ the four of them knelt in the blanketed corner, lit by Zita’s green and blue glowsticks. The regular office lights above them had begun to grate on the group as soon as they knew that evening had fallen, so in the interest of their circadian rhythm, Ignae had suggested that they use Zita’s lights instead. As they huddled in the cool glow, Xela almost felt cozy as Zita carefully re-wrapped Jesa’s arms, which had been freshly slathered with ointment. She and Ignae were leaning back against the wall together, allowing Zita the use of as much light as possible for her task. Watching Zita’s dextrous fingers in the shadows reminded Xela of another pair of skilled hands, and an image of Ignae upside-down flickered in her mind.

Turning to the traveller, Xela asked. “Hey, what was that thing you were doing today? In the gym, by the mirrors?” Ignae looked up, her face bathed in the turquoise light that paled the freckles across her nose.

“Oh, that?” she said, her arms stretched across her knees.

“Another gift from your parents?” Xela asked.

Ignae shook her head. “No, that’s more of a… recent addition.”

“From that place? With the well?” Xela said, her voice eager as Ignae nodded unwillingly.

“Yeah, it’s-- I guess it’s supposed to act as a physical articulation of your own inner world. Or-- maybe it’s better to say that it’s about mindfulness? Like it gives you  a chance to exist solely where you are, in the moment. Done right, it helps you be more… aware, of everything around you. Gives you the chance to reflect, and react.” Xela listened thoughtfully, leaning her chin on a fist.

“It sounds kind of like how we’re supposed to meditate,” she said.

“I suppose so,” said Ignae, uncertain. “But it doesn’t really have a name. At least, not one that I could pronounce.”

“Ok... But it also looked a bit more active than normal introspection. Is it kind of like a fighting form?” Xela asked curiously. “Sometimes those seemed to work like a meditation, too.”

“Kind of, though more on the side of self-defense and protection than ‘fighting,’” said Ignae, seeming to struggle. “It’s about balance, and finding that balance in your own body in relation with your surroundings.” She sighed, “I’m sorry, I’m not the best at explaining this.”

“That’s alright,” Xela assured her. “I think I kind of have an idea of what you mean. As long as it works for you-- did these people you met teach you that? Who were they?”

“I--” Ignae began, crossing her legs and tucking her hands into the pockets of her jacket. She glanced up to see that Zita and Jesa had fallen silent, and were listening with equal interest. “Look, I’m sorry,” she said, “But it’s not really my story to tell, you know? There’s a reason they wanted to be secret, and I wasn’t really supposed to be there anyways. I just got lucky, both to find them and that they let me stay.

“So even though I trust you guys, and I really do--” She looked up again, waving her hands in a hopeless gesture, her shadow dancing in a green pantomime behind her head. “It’d be poor repayment for me to pretend like I could tell you all about it, and even do it justice if I could. You see?”

“Not really,” Xela said, still itching with curiosity. “But,” she said, before Jesa and Zita could scold her, “I’m never going to force you to tell me something if you don’t want to, especially if it's about somebody else’s business. Just as long as we keep the important stuff on a need-to-know basis, yeah?”

“‘Course,” Ignae said, immediately relaxing. “No more nasty surprises on my part.”

“Thanks for that,” said Zita, leaning back on her hands so that her face faded into more shadow than light. Ignae smiled, her teeth flashing in the semi-darkness. Then she paused for a moment, considering.

“But I can tell you,’ she said slowly, “that it’s beautiful.”

“Great, like any other number of planets in the galaxy,” muttered Jesa, her arms laid gingerly in front of her.

“I mean, yes. But that doesn’t stop it from being true-- isn’t it nice how the galaxy is such a lovely place?” said Ignae, coolly inspecting her nails.

“But then-- how have we not heard of it until now?” asked Xela. The Gray Jedi frowned, her brow furrowed as she considered, staring into the light from the glowsticks.

“A well with incredible powers, a planet no one knows about, and a people older than name-- it almost sounds mythological. The Jedi’s knowledge is extensive, but they’re not infallible. If something’s old enough, and hidden enough, it could probably escape even Master Yoda’s notice.”

“Even Master Yoda?” said Xela, dubious. Jesa rolled her eyes, the dimness doing nothing to dilute her expression.

“Fine, maybe not Master Yoda if it makes you feel better,” she said. “But even if the most high-ranking Jedi knew, they wouldn’t tell anyone outside of the Jedi council, would they?”

“I did get the feeling that the-- uh-- the people in charge had some contact with the rest of the galaxy,” Ignae said, catching herself mid-sentence. Xela had to bite her tongue to resist the urge to call her on it. “So it _is_ possible that some of the Jedi would know, even if the larger organization didn’t,” she shrugged.

“I guess I wouldn’t want to trust something with galaxy-reinventing properties to just anyone either,” said Jesa.

“Though how do we know the people who have it now are trustworthy enough to handle it anyways? No offense,” Zita said, looking to Ignae.

“Some taken,” said the redhead, bristling. “I know it’s unsettling to learn a place like this exists, and that it’s in the hands of people you’ve never known about until today. Especially with bounty hunters beginning to catch the scent-- but these people have guarded the well for a millennia, long before any of us were even born. Honestly, they shouldn’t be trusting us, not the other way around.”

“Fine, fine,” Zita said conceding, “I didn’t mean to insult your--friends?”

“Mentors, more like,” Ignae corrected.

“Mentors. But this is huge information, I don’t know how you managed to just lark off into the galaxy, knowing a place like this existed.”

“I didn’t exactly just ‘lark off,’” grumbled Ignae.

“Regardless, shouldn’t we report this? Make sure it’s getting the protection it need--”

“No!” cried Ignae, her eyes wide. “No, no, we can’t go spreading this around, even to people with good intentions. Even if I hadn’t been sworn to secrecy, we all know what the King of Naboo’s like. Who knows what would happen if the well fell to someone like him? Then there’s the cutthroat politics in the senate, and they’d be bound to find out as soon as anyone else was involved. We wouldn’t want _any_ of that even getting _close_ to the well, no. It’d turn into a power vacuum, and you know it.”

“Not to mention that the hooded man would know about it almost instantly, I guarantee,” added Xela, sharing a dark look with Jesa.

“Fine, I see your point,” Zita cut in. “But Ignae, word is already getting out anyways, with or without our help. So what then?” They fell quiet as they let Ignae think, her face worried as she tugged at the chain around her neck.

“I guess I need to go back,” she finally said. “They have to be warned, so I’ll have to go-- after we take care of this whole thing, of course.” The other three women stirred uneasily, trading glances.

“You’d go alone?” asked Xela. “There’s bound to be even more bounty hunters following you; there’s always some willing to believe any rumor that comes their way.”

“Yeah, and I have no idea what dangers you crossed to find this planet in the first place, but I doubt they’ll have lightened on your second trip. Are you sure you can even find it again?” said Zita, leaning forward into the light again.

Ignae grinned, touched. “Why, you guys worried about me? Come on, I’m a pilot, of course I can find it again. And take care of myself, for what it’s worth.” She shrugged. “It’s a long trip, but I’ve made longer, and for lesser causes than this one.” Her smile suddenly flipped into a frown.

“That is, as long as they haven’t impounded my ship.” Her eyes widened as she abruptly sat up against the wall. “Do you think they still have my ship?” she asked, more agitated than Xela had ever seen her.

“Not gonna lie, they probably do,” said Jesa, her voice wry. “I doubt the traffic guards know we’re not fugitives anymore.”

“They have my ship,” Ignae repeated, scandalized. “Ok, that is not allowed, we have to take care of Eugene quick, they can’t keep _my_ ship, she’s _mine_ , and temperamental, and--”

“Stars girl, take a deep breath,” Zita said, a little taken aback. “We’ll get her back, I promise, and she could hardly be anywhere safer than in the hands of the Naboo Guard.”

“I know, but-- oh, I can’t believe I didn’t think of her for almost a whole week! I’m a bad pilot,” said Ignae mournfully, as though she’d unduly ignored a child.

“But you’re thinking of her now,” said Xela hurriedly, “and I’m sure your--ah-- _ship_ knows you’re coming back for it.” Privately, Xela thought that maybe she should reevaluate Ignae’s priorities if the woman wasn’t rattled at evading the law, but immediately began to slip for the sake of a starship. Then, a fatigued voice broke in between Ignae’s anxious rambling and Xela and Zita’s attempts to pacify her.

“Speaking of Eugene, I think we’ve hit that time where we should really try to get some sleep,” Jesa said, her face suddenly beginning to look gaunt again. “If nothing else, we’re going to have an exciting day tomorrow.”

Zita nodded. “You’re right, it’s time to turn in-- sorry, I meant to be watching the clock, but I got distracted,” she added, glancing at the time on her holoscreen. Unbeknownst to them, the hour had almost reached to midnight while they talked.

They all bedded down together on one large, thin sleeping pad, tucked under various blankets and sharing two large pillows. Ignae and Jesa took the outside of the space, allowing room for Jesa to stretch out her arms, while Zita and Xela ended up lying in the middle, trying not to kick each other as they settled. Warm beneath the blankets, Xela’s fatigue hit her suddenly, and she fell asleep almost as soon as her eyes drifted shut, nestled between the sleeping forms of her friends.


	14. Checkmate

The market at Clarion Circle was lively that afternoon, in spite of the beating sun overhead. Permanent stalls had been set up around the plaza’s circumference, the flat roofs providing easy, continuous walkways for Jesa and Xela as they circled overhead, concealed from the shoppers who, for the most part, forgot to look up. Scanning the crowd below her, Xela picked out Ignae as she stepped into the shadow of a stall a little ways ahead of them, with Zita following not far behind. They figured that Eugene was bound to go for either one of them, since their rumor-mongering hadn’t been specific about who had the information he sought. Therefore, since they hadn’t been sure if he’d managed to figure out who he should actually be targeting, or if he’d try to make off with Zita again, they’d decided that their best defense was to have Ignae and Zita stay close together. That way, they were ready to watch each other and signal the two force-wielders on the rooftops, should Eugene prove subtler than he had during the festival.

That is, if he ever bothered to show up. It was now 12:10, and Xela was beginning to fidget as the minutes ticked by. She could only hope that the merchants wouldn't notice that Ignae and Zita had passed all of their stalls a good three times now, and throw them out for not yet buying anything. She and Jesa crouched a little farther back on the roofs, waiting for the other two to reenter the sunlight, and trying not to burn their hands whenever they leaned on the pale, stucco roofs.

“See anything?” she murmured, never glancing away from the teeming masses of people below them.

“Not yet--” Jesa replied, rocking back on her heels. “Either he’s running late, or the idiot somehow managed to get lost along the way.”

“You don’t think he decided not to come, do you?” asked Xela, anxiety gnawing at her belly. She watched as Ignae stepped back into the hubbub, this time wearing several new beaded bracelets. Well, at least one of them was having fun, thought Xela, as her back screamed from hunching over for so long.

“No, no, he’s too greedy for that,” said Jesa with grim confidence. “He’ll come, I know it.”

“Hopefully before we all get third-degree burns,” Xela muttered, rubbing at her hot skin. The sun alone was bad enough, but the temperature was made worse by the binders that hung at Xela’s belt. She kept forgetting that she had them, and as the metal warmed, she often absentmindedly brushed against them, scalding herself anew. It almost made her wish that she hadn’t accepted them when the Captain had offered each of them a pair-- ‘for when the time came,’ he had said. Now they just tugged her belt off-balance, and Xela had to readjust it again as they waited in silence. Below them, Ignae and Zita pushed through the crowd to perch on the steps of the raised fountain in the middle of the plaza, and Zita absently dipped her fingers into the tinkling waters. Xela had no idea how the trader was still wearing her coat, but she was grateful that it at least made her easy to spot.

A slight commotion breaking out near the edge of the circle caught Xela’s attention. Craning her neck to see past the fountain, she felt an impish grin, as well as no small amount of relief, creep onto her face as she spotted the Botcher shoving people aside to get to the fountain. No, he still wasn’t subtle. Looked like everything was going as they’d hoped-- However, she felt Jesa tense up beside her, and she turned her head back to see a worried look on her companion’s visage.

“Merde,” cursed Jesa quietly, her brow furrowing. “He brought backup. He _never_ brings backup-- this changes things. We need to get them out, now.”

Confused, Xela swung back in the bounty hunter’s direction. Sure enough, three additional figures were following in Eugene’s wake, far enough behind him that she hadn’t noticed them at first. All were heavily armed, and heavy themselves; a grim, masked Kel Dor towered over most of the crowd, and the Zabrak just behind him looked to be all muscle and rippling tattoos. There was even-- Xela swallowed against the sudden dryness in her throat-- a Mandalorian, his armor dented and scarred from previous battles. This really did complicate things. All of their planning had been based on the fact that Eugene worked alone, and they hadn’t made any provisions to account for these three new variables. She agreed with Jesa; they needed to get out, regroup, and--

Her thoughts were interrupted when she spotted Zita’s white-clad figure getting up to move. It seemed that she and Ignae had seen the Botcher and begun to implement the next part of their plan. She watched in muted horror as they each made their way to the other edge of the circle, past the vendors, and down a nearby alley. Eugene and his crew saw them leave, and gleefully started weaving their way through the crowds in pursuit.

“No, no, no…” the Padawan moaned. “They can’t isolate themselves with that many right behind them! It was supposed to be just Eugene, oh, this is a disaster--”

“Hush,” interjected Jesa. “I don’t like this any more than you do, but the plan’s in motion, and we need to get over there and help them. Let’s go.” She slid her reclaimed lightsaber out from beneath her robes, ducked to avoid the bounty hunter’s detection, and ran along the rooftops towards the alleyway.

“I know, I know, oh stars, oh frag, oh fragging stars--” mumbled Xela, mimicking Jesa as she unhooked her own lightsaber from her belt and stumbled after her, tripping haphazardly over the raised beams in the roof. They raced to the edge of the market just behind the Botcher and his followers, the hunters moving sluggishly through the clogged passage as Jesa and Xela faced the steep buildings beyond the stalls. A nervous tingling sensation washed through Xela’s hands as the two of them leapt from the bazaar rooftops to the higher, red-tiled roofs of the buildings that framed the alleyway. They landed lightly and dashed along the slanted surface, skipping over broken tiles as Xela glanced down every now and again to make sure they weren’t losing their friends, nor the men that hounded them. Due to their head start, Ignae and Zita vanished down a few passageways just as the bounty hunters entered them, and it was a good thing too, Xela thought. Because if they all reached a straightaway-- the sound of blaster fire and red bolts of light erupted beneath them.

Ignae and Zita’s luck had run out; they had reached a long, narrow stretch in the slums of the city, providing little cover and a long way to go before they could next disappear into other streets. Granted, this was where they had initially planned to corner Eugene, when it had just been the five of them-- but now, their trap had been turned into a brutal battleground. Xela and Jesa leapt across open space to take them to the stretch of rooftop that would give them access to the alley. From above, they could see the four bounty hunters advancing slowly down the way, two by two. The pair in front had their blasters drawn, and were firing down the length of the alley at where Zita and Ignae were huddled behind a pile of scrap parts and garbage, ducking as low as they could. The Botcher and the Mandalorian stood in back, as Eugene yelled:

“Don’t shoot the redhead! I need her alive, don’t shoot her you idiots!”

Jesa never hesitated. She immediately leapt down into the area between the bounty hunters and their friends, right into the crossfire. Arms wheeling and overcoat flying, her lightsaber materialized in a blaze of purple light as she fell, a burning blade of plasma that scorched the very air as she landed, knocking a blast away. The surprised cries of the bounty hunters echoed down the alley, and they immediately turned all their fire onto the Gray Jedi. But she was ready, her blade echoing with that familiar thrumming sound as she diverted their shots in a blur of movement, causing scorch marks to appear, as if by magic, across the walls. This gave time for Zita to lean out from behind their cover and take aim at their attackers, bursts of red light reflecting off of her face. Still, even with their new line of defense, they were pinned in that position, with both sides stuck with no way to overcome the other.

As Xela prepared to enter the fray herself, she suddenly heard a low rumble, and a belch of black smoke drew her eyes to the Mandalorian. He was rising from the ground with his blaster drawn, gazing down his sights at Jesa as his jetpack bore him up. He was trying to get the high ground, and if Jesa had to defend from three sides at once-- Xela grit her teeth and didn’t give herself time to think. She reached the edge of the roof in one bound and leapt off of it, tumbling into the Mandalorian before he let off a shot. She hit him hard, her head banging against his helmet and his armor slamming painfully against her chest. But her added weight and momentum was enough to careen them both to the side, overwhelming the jet pack’s thrusters and slamming them into the alley wall. The Mandalorian took the brunt of their impact, the blaster falling from his hands as his arm was crushed-- an uncomfortable heat, building into pain ripped along the Padawan’s leg as it swung beneath the jet pack’s flames-- Gasping, Xela clung to the bounty hunter’s shoulders as they lurched back towards the ground, the world spinning around them in a brackish haze of smoke. Together, girl and Mandalorian smashed into the street, right in the midst of the bounty hunters, knocking all of them off their feet in a tangle of armor, legs, and flame. Xela’s head connected soundly with the pavement as she rolled off the bounty hunter, her ears ringing and the sky blurring above her as pain lanced through her skull.

In her periphery, she could see Jesa press her advantage in the confusion, leaping from her defensive crouch as one of the bounty hunters who’d been shooting at her struggled to his feet, catching the wrist of the hand that held Jesa’s lightsaber. Ignae and Zita also dove from behind their makeshift cover, Ignae sprinting towards the largest alien and sliding under his clumsy attempt to snatch her, while Zita made a beeline straight for the Botcher. The trader kicked Eugene’s blaster from his hands and swung at his head, he knocked her fist away and made a low jab for her torso, which she caught and twisted, spinning him past her to run into some bins. Among the clatter and the sound of her own blood pulsing in her head, Zita’s snarl somehow found its way to Xela with a dreamlike clarity--

“So you’re not completely hopeless. Good, that’ll make this more satisfying.” Then Xela’s view of the fight was wrenched away, as a thick-gloved hand wrapped around her neck and dragged her to her feet. Dizzy, disoriented, and choking around the tightness in her throat, she saw herself reflected in the Mandalorian’s visor as her hands scrabbled at his grip.

“You wrecked my jetpack,” he said, the radio in his helmet stripping his voice of emotion.

“Did I?” she gagged. Her hands scrambled for purchase, pushing back against her attacker. Only one thought pushed its way into her mind. _Her lightsaber_. She’d lost her grip on it in the fall, where was it? It couldn’t have gone far-- She reached out with the Force, felt it sitting nearby on the ground, and willed it to her hand. The hilt slapped into her palm, unnoticed, and she wrapped her fingers around it, fumbling for the activation button. She grimaced as the fingers at her throat squeezed tighter. “You’ll really hate this, then.” The saber ignited in her hands, and she swung the shimmering blue blade upwards. The Mandalorian roared in pain as the weapon found its target; he stumbled backward, clutching frantically at the stump where his right hand used to hang. Xela fell back clumsily as the hand that had held her dropped to the pavement, while she massaged her throat and gasped lungfuls of welcome air.

Taking advantage of her temporary freedom from immediate danger, she glanced around and took in the scene before her. Zita was still battering Eugene to the ground, and Ignae was dancing around the pair, trying to get an opening to either secure a pair of binders on the Botcher or knock him out. Jesa was taking the brunt of the attack, with the remaining two bounty hunters fighting her from either direction. The massive Kel Dor had apparently abandoned Ignae and was now wielding a quarterstaff, which he jabbed at Jesa’s midsection again and again, forcing her to dart around to avoid its blows. Meanwhile, the red-skinned Zabrak had taken cover behind some overturned crates on her other side, and Jesa was using her lightsaber to deflect his blaster bolts into the alley behind her.

Xela was starting towards the fray when she heard the Mandalorian let out a low, keening howl behind her, which turned into a raw cry of rage. She turned as he lunged to his feet and rushed towards her, blind to everything else around him. But his single-mindedness made him an easy target, and Xela shifted her weight to meet him as he approached. His remaining fist swung towards her jaw, but she ducked fluidly away. Instead, her hands rose to the space where her head had been, and she wrapped her fingers tightly around his wrist. Using his momentum against him, Xela spun on the spot, whipping the Mandalorian around so that he smashed face-first into the wall, cracking the glass of his visor. Dazed and sinking to the ground, he hardly noticed as the Padawan unclipped her binders from her belt and chained him to a nearby drainage pipe. Guess they’d proven to be useful after all, she thought, gracelessly fumbling with the restraints as deep aches radiated from her crown to her back.

Then, just as she spun back to Jesa’s fight, the Gray Jedi let out a wail of pain and sank to the ground, clutching her left arm while still waveringly trying to keep her saber pointed towards her enemies. It seemed like the Kel Dor had finally landed a blow, somehow missing her torso and striking Jesa’s injured limb. Taking advantage of her fallen defense, the Zabrak stood from his crouch and let loose a shot from his blaster. The bolt squarely hit Jesa’s shoulder, and the force of it knocked her the rest of the way to the ground. Her blade retracted with a feeble sizzle, and the hilt of her lightsaber rolled into the shadows as the Gray Jedi curled into a fetal position. Gleefully, the two bounty hunters slunk towards her, towering over their fallen opponent.

Without a second thought, Xela launched herself down the alley, lightsaber drawn. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Zita running hard beside her while Ignae hauled the Botcher next to the chained Mandalorian. As the Kel Dor raised his staff to deliver the knockout blow, the two women slammed into his side, plowing their shoulders into his lower back. Despite his massive stature, the bounty hunter staggered from the impact before turning to face his new challengers, his black goggles glittering like chips of obsidian over his eyes. Zita immediately disengaged and turned to face the Zabrak, who was only just recovering from his shock. He raised his blaster, but the trader employed her signature high kick to send it spiraling out of his hands. Then, just as she had with Eugene, Zita raised her fists and began trading blows with him, keeping the fight in her area of expertise.

Xela, meanwhile, faced the imposing figure before her, who gurgled with laughter behind his mask. “Look at this! The brave little Jedi rushes in to defend the helpless, the weak.” With little warning, he swung the quarterstaff towards her head, forcing her to jolt to the side, narrowly avoiding the staff’s spiked point, which halted a mere inch from her face. With a cry, she swung her lightsaber down before he could retreat, splitting the weapon neatly in two. The bounty hunter stumbled back, regarding the pieces of his weapon with curiosity and mild surprise. Xela crouched before him, shoulders heaving and lightsaber at the ready. Shrugging, the hunter chuckled again, and simply began dual-wielding the two halves, coming at her with both hands and dizzying speed for one his size. As he swung down at her head and chest, he growled snidely, “Although, sending one frail little Jedi to defend another-- it makes me wonder if you’re not all just fragile and powerless anyways. Don’t make ‘em like they used to, do they?” The blows continued to assail Xela from above as she retreated, his height bearing down on her. But she compensated by slicing pieces off of each of his staffs as they came near her, desperately twisting and slashing. Finally, her back hit a wall with a shudder of pain, and she raised her blade as the alien leered above her, his arm raised to strike-- fear raked up her stomach, she had never killed anyone before, didn’t know if she could, but he was coming and this was going to hurt--

“Hey!” yelled a defiant voice. The masked bounty hunter shuddered as something smacked into the back of his head-- a rusty shard of metal, warped and broken, fell at his feet. Xela could just see Ignae behind the Kel Dor’s massive trunk, her face furious and her arm raised, ready to throw another piece of trash. The creature’s head quirked to the side, before another booming guffaw ripped from behind his mask.

“What fire you runts have, yes! Don’t worry, your turn is coming, you--” he broke off, his mirth fading as he caught sight of his captured companions at the other end of the alley, wallowing at Ignae’s feet. Enraged once more, he swung wildly around to resume his assault, only to discover that Xela had reduced his staff to almost nothing, merely two shards hardly longer than a leg of meat in each hand.  The veins around his eyes twisted as a sneer that Xela could feel from behind the mask distorted his face. “I guess you’re a lucky group of weaklings,” he growled, low and heavy behind the faceplate. “Clazach promised us an easy grab and go, with a big payout-- but it looks like neither of those are gonna happen today.” Xela clung to her lightsaber, pressing back into the wall as he remained where he stood, blocking her with his staffs still raised. He suddenly lurched down at her with a bark, laughing as she startled against the wall. “No money, no reason to stick around,” he hissed.

Before the Padawan could react, the bounty hunter spun and threw one of the stumps of his staff, while stabbing down towards her with his other hand at the end of his fluid spin. She barely dodged in time, only to see the other half shoot towards the back of Zita’s head and connect solidly with the trader’s skull. The woman spasmed at the impact, then immediately dropped to the street with a cry. As Ignae and Xela yelled Zita’s name, the Kel Dor seized his moment and scrambled up the alley to grab the Zabrak, who lay out cold beside the trader. He then took off towards the nearest side street, vanishing in a thunder of footsteps.

Every muscle in Xela’s body ached to follow them, but she knew that she needed to stay back and look after Jesa and Zita. Then there was their new prisoners-- they probably shouldn’t be left alone, she thought woozily, her pulse pounding in her ears as she breathed raggedly, still huddled against the alleyway. A part of her was shell-shocked, unable to believe that the tussle was over. These things always seemed to happen so fast, done before they began and over before-- No, wait, focus, they had to get them-- Eugene and the Mandalorian-- to the guard-- and then-- and then-- why wasn’t her mind moving any farther than that? The street seemed to be undulating beneath her, in time with the buzzing in her head. She had the distinct feeling that that wasn’t normal, and could feel herself beginning to sag against the wall. But before she could dwell on it too much, her own name beat against her consciousness.

“Xela! Xela! Go check Zita, I’ve got Jesa!” Ignae yelled at her. Xela’s eyes lazily wandered across the carnage in the alleyway, suddenly sharpening on Zita’s prone form.

“Zita!” gasped the Padawan, Ignae’s words registering belatedly in her mind. She pushed off the alleyway and limped across the cobblestones, around a smoking trash heap and to the insensible woman’s side, where her knees slammed against the pavement as she knelt. Reaching out, she carefully lifted Zita from the street and cradled the woman shoulders, her eyes anxiously darting over the trader’s bruised and bleeding knuckles, her split lip, and her disheveled hair. Squinting behind Zita’s head, she found a bloody lump at the base of her skull, welling up into an egg-shaped contusion. The woman groaned when Xela’s fingers touched it, and her fingers came away red and sticky. Panic began to well up in Xela’s chest. Sure, she’d seen injuries before when fighting alongside her master, but usually they had the support of the community during the aftermath of their battles, and medics who were readily available to help those who needed it. Now, they had only themselves, and half of them probably couldn’t even walk. The corners of the Padawan’s eyes prickled and her throat tightened, her frustration mounting at both the helplessness of their situation and her muddled brain, which couldn’t come up with a solution. With tears blurring her eyes, she gently lay Zita back on the street, thinking vaguely that she shouldn’t be moved. Then she stumbled back down the street towards Ignae’s kneeling figure, her bright red hair acting as a guiding beacon.

Ignae was hunched over the Gray Jedi, who lay on her back, breathing shallowly and with her eyes screwed tightly shut. A dark burn was still smoking on her shoulder where the blast had struck her, singeing her overcoat and searing through her shirt to the flesh beneath. Ignae looked up as Xela weaved towards them, her lips pressed together in a thin line.

“She wasn’t wearing any armor, we’re lucky he only hit her shoulder,” she said as the Padawan stumbled to her side. “How’s Zita?”

“Bad,” mumbled Xela, hoping her words weren’t slurring too much. “There’s blood on the back of her shoulder, I mean head, she’s completely out.” Ignae winced, looking over her shoulder to where Xela had left their friend.

“I was afraid of that,” she muttered, standing. She dragged a hand through the waves of her hair, her eyes darting in a triangle between Jesa, Zita, and the two bounty hunters cuffed against the wall. “Ok, Xela, let’s start with the basics-- Xela!” The redhead snapped her fingers in front of the Padawan’s wandering gaze. “Come on, I need you to focus. You here?” Xela nodded blearily. She kept getting distracted by the flashing lights that peppered the corners of her vision, now that her adrenaline was beginning to ebb. “I need you to go and use something to stop Zita’s bleeding, anything, it doesn’t matter,” Ignae said, glancing over Xela as she assessed her. “Your belt should work pretty well. I’m gonna be right back, ok?” she finished, her voice slow and deliberate.

“Got it,” mumbled Xela. Ignae nodded, looking intently at her. Then she turned and began to jog up the alley, glancing back them worriedly. She stopped at the first corner, suddenly turning around. “And you two!” she shouted, glaring at Eugene and the Mandalorian. “Don’t try anything, or she’ll stab you! You’ll stab them, right?” Ignae said, looking at Xela.

“Oh yeah. I will, definitely-- what?” Xela said.

“That’ll have to work,” called back the girl, before disappearing around the corner. Xela stayed where she was for a moment, staring emptily at the mouth of the alleyway. She was so, so tired. But she lurched around anyways, and wandered back to Zita. As she knelt again, she was grateful that Ignae’s instructions had been simple. But even so, she felt slow and clumsy as she unwound her sash from her waist began wrapping it around Zita’s head, the cloth slipping over the trader’s hair. But she managed to make two rounds around Zita’s skull before her belt ran out. When she finally finished tying an ungainly knot to keep her makeshift first-aid in place, her fingers were stained a dull red. A wave of nausea broke over Xela, and she bit the inside of her cheek to stave off sickness as she carefully set Zita down again. Stars above, this alley smelled awful; the air carried its pungent, oily scent whenever the wind blew the wrong way. The Padawan pulled herself back to Zita, noting that the woman’s face was ghastly and pale, only a few shades darker than the jacket she wore-- well, if the jacket wasn’t stained with soot and ruddy specks of blood.

It suddenly occurred to Xela that she should probably find a way to bandage Jesa’s shoulder too. Heaving herself up as her head throbbed, she went back to the Gray Jedi, feeling as though she was the ball she and Ignae had used, bouncing back and forth. Jesa hadn’t moved since Xela last saw her, but at least the blast had stopped smoking. Xela reached for her belt, then remembered that she’d left it with Zita. Instead, she shrugged out of the blue waistcoat she wore over her three-quarter sleeved shirt, struggling as the armhole caught on her shoulder. But she eventually freed herself, and folded up the garment into a compress that she gingerly pressed against the Gray Jedi’s shoulder. Jesa gasped at the contact, biting back a cry. Xela’s nerves flared in her chest.

“Jesa, you ok?” she asked. Jesa shook her head mutely, making small humming noises behind her closed lips. When opened her eyes to look into Xela’s face, they were glassy with pain. “It’s ok, Ignae will be back soon,” Xela soothed, glancing back up the alley, knowing it was cold comfort. Frag, where was Ignae? Had it been minutes, or hours, since she’d last seen her? Xela had the distinct feeling that she’d lost time, that she’d zoned out and missed something--

A low, sputtering rumble growled down the alley and grew steadily louder. Xela squinted against a kick of dust as the nose of a speeder bike edged around the corner, lumbering into view. Ignae turned off the ignition and hopped down from the seat in a haze of exhaust, bustling to them while apologizing profusely.

“Sorry, sorry, that took way longer than I thought it would, you wouldn’t believe how tight these corners are--”

“What? I-- where did you get that?” Xela said slowly, still absorbing the appearance of the machine. Truth be told, the bike was barely better than the scraps they had fought amongst earlier; the paint had long peeled away to lay bare the metal beneath, and the prongs that extended from the front of the bike were bent slightly towards the ground. But the back seat was endowed with a jerry-rigged platform, made of wooden planks and a thin metal railing, as though someone had tried to make the bike into a delivery transport.

“Clarion Circle,” said Ignae, kneeling next to Jesa. “Good idea about her shoulder, by the way--” she said, with a glance at Xela’s wadded-up waistcoat. “It took some haggling, but one of those shopkeepers let me have it for cheap.” It was then that Xela realized what had been bothering her-- Ignae’s necklace was missing, the normal silvery strands were nowhere to be seen.

“Your necklace,” said Xela. Ignae looked up from her examination of Jesa, her face pale.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said. “Come on, help me with Zita, we’ll get her first.” She didn’t give Xela a chance to reply as she pulled her to her feet, leading her back towards where the trader lay. Together, they slowly lifted the woman from the pavement, Ignae coaching Xela’s sluggish movements. “Yeah, that’s it, mind her head, keep it still-- ok, almost, almost there, up a bit-- and down.” Zita now lay in the bed of the speeder bike, her head towards the bike’s handlebars. Xela staggered back, feeling off-balance without Zita’s weight. She abruptly turned around, nearly slamming into Ignae-- she had no idea when the woman had approached her.

Ignae cocked her head and examined Xela curiously for a moment, holding Xela’s shoulders at arm's length. “What’s wrong with you? Your head?” she said. “The fight must’ve rattled you, you’re not yourself, are you? I saw you hit the ground-- Come on, I need you fully here to help me.

“May I?” she asked, stretching her hand towards the Padawan’s forehead. Xela shrugged in assent, not really sure what the redhead meant, but also too lost to argue or care. Ignae sighed deeply, placed her palm gently on the crown of Xela’s head, and closed her eyes. After a moment, the Padawan felt a tendril of warmth radiate out from where Ignae’s hand met her skin, spiraling soothingly into her mind and crowding out the fog within it. A few seconds passed, then Ignae lowered her arm and smiled, opening her eyes to search Xela’s. “Better?”

Xela shook her head to reorient herself, blinking against the sunlight. She felt fine, better than fine. She was refreshed, with no trace of the sluggish confusion that she’d just been fighting. She gaped back at Ignae. “I feel-- normal again. That was amazing! I know Force-healing’s good, but that was-- How did you--”

Ignae cut her off, however. “Sorry, but we don’t have time to get into details right now. Places to be, remember?” So saying, she looked critically at the bike, then back towards Jesa and the two bounty hunters. She sighed.

“We won’t all fit, not if Jesa’s lying down too. She’ll have to sit with you and Eugene over there, if you’re ok with being in the middle.” Xela shrugged as the Botcher glared balefully at them from across the alley. “Still doesn’t leave much room for the Mandalorian though,” Ignae said, thoughtful. Xela frowned, and wandered to the back of the bike.

“Hey Ignae,” she called. “Ignae-- there’s a trailer hitch in the back.” The traveller raised her eyebrows.

“Oh, really?”


	15. Rewards

The wind carried the scent of baked goods and exhaust as it played through Xela’s hair. She sat in the back of the speeder bike, clinging to the metal railing as Jesa leaned heavily against her, blanching at every wild turn that Ignae took. Zita lay at their feet, her head cushioned by Ignae and Jesa’s jackets, while Eugene was cuffed to the railing on the other side of the vehicle, looking sullen and a little bit terrified. A raucous clanking echoed occasionally behind them whenever Xela’s concentration faltered, causing the Mandalorian to drag momentarily across the pavement in a spray of sparks. His cries would usually jolt her back to the present, reminding her to lift him again with the Force, if only an inch above the street. Even with her lapses, Xela and Ignae figured that he’d be fine, as long as his Mandalorian armor was as good as it was portended to be.

What a sight they were, she thought to herself. Thank the stars that they were able to avoid main thoroughfares, because she would hate to try and explain their situation to gawkers on the street. Two young women with a couple of injured companions and two prisoners, one of whom was flying out behind the speeder? They’d never have gotten back to the haven of the prison without getting the guards called on them-- _again_.

The speeder shuddered as Ignae whipped it around another corner. “Almost back, c’mon, c’mon,” she muttered. The edge of the Mandalorian’s leg caught on a wall as he swung out wide, and Xela cringed and the crunching sound it made. Enemy or not, she felt a little bad that he was still getting battered up, even though the fight was over. Especially if anyone deserved a little bit of an extra roughing-up, she’d think it’d have been Eugene-- she gave him a warning glance as he clung to the railings, his knuckles white as Ignae screeched to a halt at a crossing, sending them all sliding towards the front of the bike. And yet, seeing him sitting before them with a swelling eye and a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth, Xela felt pacified, and almost sorry for the Botcher. It was as though Zita had taken enough vengeance for all of them. Warmth towards the trader bubbled anew in her chest as she looked down at her, dampened at the edges with worry--but she could see the walls of the prison now, flashing between the domes of the buildings they passed. The same walls they had skulked by in the gray hours of the morning when going to rescue Jesa flew by in a blur, and the speeder pitched sickeningly as they burst into the courtyard in front of the main entrance. Ignae squeezed on the brakes, the bike expelling a putrid smoke as mechanisms in its aged engine screamed, and they skidded to halt in front of the gateway, to the surprised faces of the prison guards.

Ignae slid off the seat with the grace a podracer at the finish line, and rounded their dilapidated chariot to where the Mandalorian hovered.

“You can drop him now,” she called, and Xela blinked-- she hadn’t realized she was still holding him, even though her fingers were wrapped in tight knots on her knees from the strain. A hiss of breath escaped her as she finally relaxed, her fingers unwinding as she heard the Mandalorian crash to the ground. The railing dug into her back as she twisted around to see Ignae drag the bounty hunter to the guard's’ feet, and toss him into an undignified heap. She was beyond questioning Ignae at this point, but the Mandalorian’s armor alone had to weigh twice as much as the elf-like woman--

“We’re here with Eugene Clazach, and one other,” said Ignae, her voice urgent. “The Captain notified you of our arrival, right?”

“I-- yes, he said to expect you, ma’am,” said one guard, “But--”

“Good, then we have two injured, who need immediate medical attention,” said Ignae, “We need stretchers too, they can’t walk.”

“Of course, but there’s protocol for this, did you--”

“I said stretchers, _now_ please,” said Ignae brusquely.

Needless to say, the guard complied. It wasn’t long before the bike was surrounded by a bustle of activity as guards swarmed about it, but Xela saw it all as though from afar. She sat in the speeder with Jesa and Zita, and watched as Eugene and the Mandalorian were led away, the sounds of voices reading them their rights distant and echoing as though they came from beyond a wall of glass. Not even Eugene’s jabbering complaints that he’d been framed broke through to their personal isle of serenity, which was only breached when a pair of hovering stretchers flanked by personnel in white scrubs perched beside them. Xela helped them lower a comatose Zita into the stretchers embrace, and then reluctantly lent her hand as Jesa, too, clambered onto the bed. Then she was left alone, as people trailed back behind the prison walls, and the courtyard became restive once more. The remaining guards at the gate ignored her, steadfast in their duty, and Xela was merely glad to lie back on the splinter-ridden bed of the bike, feeling as though she could sink into it’s planks and vanish without complaint.

Just as her eyes were sliding shut against the red haze of the sun, the speeder suddenly rocked beneath the Padawan. Opening one eye, Xela could see Ignae leaning on the bike’s railing, causing the machine to list to the side under her weight. Xela lugged herself up into a vertical position, leaning her chin on the aged metal-- she could practically taste its tang on her tongue as Ignae spoke.

“That’s it then,” she sighed. “They’ll get our statements as soon as they’re done booking Eugene. Then I think we’ll have a debriefing with the Captain, hopefully with Jesa and Zita too,” she said with a conciliatory shrug, “and then we’re done.”

Xela stirred at last, looking sideways at Ignae’s face. The redhead’s chin was perched on the rail as she gazed into the streets beyond, and was stained with a fine coating of dust and soot. Xela doubted she was faring any better.

“Then that’ll really be it?” she said, standing to hoist herself to the ground.

“Yeah. Hard to believe, huh?” said Ignae, extending a steadying hand as Xela jumped awkwardly from the bed of the speeder.

Recovering, Xela straightened and replied, “Definitely. Somehow it feels like more time has passed than just a week.”

Leaning back against the machine, Ignae groaned. “I _feel_ like way more than a week’s passed. First thing I need to do is take a nap.”

Xela grinned wearily. “You got that right. I wonder if they’ll let us sleep here again-- not that it matters, but going anywhere else at this point just sounds exhausting.”

“Careful with talk like that, they might think you _actually_ want to stay forever and make you a palace guard instead of a Jedi,” said Ignae in mock warning as Xela leaned beside her.

“If I did, maybe I’d get to keep this thing,” Xela said with an affectionate rap on the speeders rusted side.

“Attached already? It’s gonna die barely a week out, you know that right?” laughed Ignae. “The brake coils are absolutely fragged, and don’t even get me started on the thrusters.”

“Could you fix it?” asked Xela.

“Maybe--” Ignae’s voice was critical, doubtful. “But would I want to? Probably not, this hunk o’ junk might just be ready to be put out of its misery,” she said, looking back towards the gaping gates ahead of them. “Plus I just don’t know if there’s going to be time for it now. We’ve got things to do now. Places to see. More markets to destroy,” she said with an antic grin.

“You’ve got a point there,” said Xela, begrudgingly conceding, and then playing along. “Places to go. Trials to take,” she shuddered. “Though-- don’t judge me, ok? I’m kind of going to miss this. Minus the illegal parts, and the horrible parts--”

“Wasn’t that all the parts, though?”

“Oh come on, it wasn’t all bad, was it?”

“Mm, kind of,” hummed Ignae. Seeing Xela’s expression, she chuckled. “No, no, you’re right, it wasn’t _all_ bad. I know what you mean. I’ll miss you guys, even if I won’t be missing Naboo.” Xela made a face.

“Too true there, the magic’s kind of gone now that we’ve slept in Madame Gaska’s for a couple days.”

“Right? I didn’t even get the chance to get much research done, but I’m ready to go. There’ll be time later, once I can stop associating Naboo with fighting and late-night escapades,” said Ignae, kicking one foot lazily against the cobblestones. “Although,” she said as she gave a sidelong glance to the Padawan, “You’re family’s still here, aren’t they? You still have a couple days, maybe you could find them.” Xela shrugged, thinking for a moment as she wrapped a hand behind her head and around the railing on the speeder, hanging off of it.

“No, I agree with you, I think I’m ready to leave. Take my Trials and whatnot-- I’m probably more ready for them than I was before, even.” Letting go of the railing, she tugged at her braid, winding it around one finger and feeling the ripples and beads slide against her callouses. “Besides,” she continued, letting her elbow lean on Ignae’s shoulder. “I never came here to see them anyways. And I found something better in the end.”

“Was that-- actual emotion? Xela darling, I thought Jedi weren’t supposed to do that,” said Ignae, looking askance at the Padawan with a raised eyebrow and a crafty grin.

“Maybe not, Xela said with a laugh. “Guess Jesa’s rubbing off on me-- don’t tell anyone.” She was unable to hide the delight tugging at the corners of her mouth, even as she tried to ignore the shiver that slithered down to her stomach.

“Aw, you are such a sap,” teased Ignae, but her smile was genuine and bright. Turning back towards the prison, the young woman craned her head back to look at the sky. “Me too, Xela, me too,” she said. They stayed like that for a time, in companionable silence, watching as billowing, bulbous clouds moved overhead, gleaming in the afternoon sun beyond the flat planes of the compound. The sun laid a smothering hand across them, the heat quickly intensifying from a balm to blanket, undeterred by the sparse breezes that flit across the courtyard in sweltering gasps.

“Well, I guess we’d better get this thing parked,” said Xela at last, heaving herself to her feet. “Any longer, and you’ll be burning redder than dwarf star.”

“Yeah, you’re right, let’s go,” agreed Ignae, stretching her arms luxuriously above her head. Putting their shoulders to the speeder’s handles, the two women pushed through the arch and into the courtyard, disappearing from view as the guards let the gate fall shut behind them with a groan.


	16. End of the Beginning

Two weeks later, the day that Xela had been dreading finally came. It was time for the four women to head their separate ways. They had decided to stay together on Naboo until they were all well enough to travel, and Jesa had been discharged from the hospital the day before. The nurse had not been thrilled to find that now two of their group needed treatment, one of whom she had already healed, and spent much of the time chastising the four of them about needing to be more careful with their activities. Nevertheless, she tended to Zita and Jesa with the utmost care, and even patched up the other two a bit; tutting over stray scrapes on Ignae’s face and keeping a watchful eye over the bruises that splotched across Xela’s back. Even the captain had visited them during their stay in the infirmary, updating them in his stiff manner about the Botcher’s proceedings, and insisting that they be given awards for their civic works. Discreetly, of course, and with only the nurse and a few guards as witnesses, but Xela felt touched nonetheless. He even shouted down their protests to the contrary and gave each of them a small sum of credits, saying that they were owed for services rendered, just like any of his guards. This all he did, before reminding them quite politely that they should leave Naboo and not come back for a very long time. Xela was only too happy to agree, as she still found herself often searching for a dark hood among crowds of people, and twitching whenever she thought she spotted a black hem disappearing around a corner. Privately, she decided that if-- no, _when_ \-- she passed her Trials, she would do what she could to avoid assignments to Naboo, unless she had a cadre of more experienced knights at her side. But in spite of this, Xela still enjoyed their last weeks on the planet-- they were decidedly the most peaceful times the four women spent together, and Xela had been grateful for it.

But now, it was all coming to an end. The group stood together once more under the vaulted ceilings of Perget Station, bags piled by their feet, and watching as creatures streamed in and out of the station in scattered bursts. They leaned against a large, round pillar as arrivals and departures flickered across an illuminated board above their heads, watching as tunnels pulsing with the ebb and flow of travelers branched away into the building. Xela kept glancing up at the skylight she had admired her first day in the city, relying on the gray light shafting through to halt the tightness that kept creeping into her throat. A peaceful chime echoed through the station in a three note melody, and Zita straightened, turning to look back at the other three women lounging against the pillar.

“It’s time,” she said, a wistful smile tugging creeping across her face. Xela felt her heart begin to slide, like a drop of rain down a pane of glass.

“Does it have to be?” said Ignae, pushing herself off of the wall. “No, I know, you’ve got a flight to catch--Are you much of a hugger?” To Xela’s surprise, Zita’s smile widened as she replied.

“I love hugs.” The two warmly embraced, and Xela heard Zita murmur “Be careful out there,” into the redhead’s shoulder.

“You too,” said Ignae, and they broke apart. Xela was next, and as the trader’s arms wrapped around her, Zita’s voice drifted into her ear.

“Good luck on your Trials-- The galaxy needs Jedi like you.”

“Thanks,” muttered Xela as she released the other woman, reminding herself again that Jedi did not cry. At least, until they were alone on a quiet shuttle with the doors shut. Jesa was the last, and the two exchanged a fleeting, one-armed hug and quiet words that Xela couldn’t hear. Not that she was trying, as she and Ignae were busy huddling together around the suitcases that crowded around their feet, making mournful faces somewhere between trying not to cry and laughing at each other’s futile attempts. Then, without further ado, Zita shrugged a satchel onto her shoulder and took a small, scuffed aluminium case from their pile. With a last, subtle wave, she walked across the white and blue tiled floor towards a round, echoing tunnel, tugging a hood over her head, and it wasn’t long before Xela could no longer see her among the bobbing heads of intergalactic commuters. The trio stood for a moment among the echoing burble of the station, absorbing their dwindled number. But never one for long farewells, Ignae broke their silence.

“Well, guess we’d better rip this bandage off sooner rather than later-- I refuse to say good-bye though, I’ll see you again,” she said off-handedly, dragging a hand through her hair before ruffling through her pockets in a last check to make sure that she had everything. The woman didn’t even ask if they wanted hugs, but it never crossed Xela’s mind to avoid one. Ignae’s embrace was warm and tight, her arms squeezing in a quick compression that smelled like vanilla and rain-soaked leather. Finally, with a last look at the remaining pair and a broad smile that defied sorrow, she said “See you when I see you!”

“See you when I see you!” they echoed back, and then Ignae too was gone, her blazing hair vanishing in the glare of sunlight outside the station. Xela huffed out a sigh and looked back at the board-- her shuttle number rippled across one of the screens, the symbols glowing a bright blue to signal its impending departure. A couple of rows down, Jesa’s shuttle appeared as well, at last revealing her departure gate. The two looked at each other, Xela absorbing again the dark hair and bright eyes of the Gray Jedi.

“Thanks for three weeks, I guess,” said Jesa.

“Um, yeah, you too” said Xela, inexplicably shy as she reached down to pick up her bag and shrug it onto her shoulders, her scalp prickling uncomfortably.

“She was right, you know,” blurted Jesa. Xela looked up, hesitant, and straightened again. She gave a small, confused smile.

“Who? About what?” she asked.

“Zita. And you. As a Jedi-- you’re going to make a great one. Maybe even a Master some day,” Jesa shrugged, her hands sliding into the pockets of her overcoat. Xela felt as though she was overfull with some kind of glowing liquid, threatening to spill its brightness down her shoulders

“And you already are one. I feel better, knowing you’re out there,” she said, her grin unrestrained. Jesa’s eyes softened, gratitude lighting her features.

“Well, you know,” she said, crossing her arms and settling easily onto one hip. “Someone’s got to defend the galaxy, the Force knows it won’t be you lot.” The woman playfully reached out and punched a fist into Xela’s arm, rocking the Padawan onto one foot.

“Hey, that’s not fair,” she laughed, ‘I can’t hit an injured woman back.”

“This’ll have to do then,” said Jesa with a slight smile, and they carefully embraced-- not too close, and as quick as a breath or a fleeting thought, but still--it was true, and that was all Xela wanted.

They parted with an easy wave, Xela towards the northern hanger, and Jesa towards the south. Xela knew not where the other woman was headed, as she refused to confess where she’d be meeting her contact from the Order. But the Padawan wished her safe passage anyways, and even preferred her ignorance-- this way, if anyone asked about the Gray Jedi, she wouldn’t have to lie. As the crowd closed in around her, funneling into close tunnels, the buzzing of a multitude of creatures drowned out Jesa’s presence in Xela’s awareness. Swallowing, Xela tried not to mind how she suddenly felt adrift without Zita, Ignae, and Jesa at her back. Instead, she focused on her slow shuffle through the passageway and into the wide hangar, putting her mind to every detail she saw-- how the sunlight shafted through the glass ceiling, the tugging of her pack on her back, the rhythmic jostling against her shoulders as the crowd bobbed about her. The acrid scent of gasoline and sharp, fresh air gusted in from the open end of the hangar, and a breeze ruffled the traveller’s clothes in the wind tunnel formed by the station. Then it was as though the wind carried them away, each dispersing to their respective shuttles and releasing the Padawan from the tangle of people in a swirl of leaves. Xela mounted her gangplank hastily, suddenly eager to be rid of the echoing announcements and high whistles that were commonplace at Perget. Maybe she hoped that as soon as her feet left Naboo’s soil, so too would the subtle ache of loss leave her chest.

She handed her ticket (with a false name and identichip number, courtesy of the Naboo guard) to the Rodian posted by the door, his flight suit a glaring shade of orange that pricked her eyes. But she passed peacefully, and mounted a narrow set of stairs to the upper level of the shuttle, where all was quiet save for the hushed murmurs of a few other passengers, including a mother singing a ditty to her youngling, and a portly man already snoring in a seat up near the front. Xela shambled up the narrow aisle, fleeting thoughts of her Trials and what she would tell Master Ki-Adi Mundi about her trip surfacing in her head. She’d never directly lied to him, but now she wasn’t entirely sure if he needed the whole story of her time on Theed.

She flopped into an unoccupied seat in an unoccupied row, stuffing her bag into the space beneath the seat in front of her. Then she leaned back and gazed out of the porthole at the scurrying forms of other passengers below her. They ran to catch flights or ambled slowly towards the main gate; some waited wearily for delayed flights, and others waved up at the ship to persons unknown. Her eyes unfocused, staring without sight, yet Xela felt like something was nagging at her, as though she’d left something behind. Unease paced in the bars of her ribcage, until she was roused by the growling rumble of the shuttle’s engines vibrating beneath her. She felt the gravity locks disengage with a lurch, and then the hanger’s plain, cement walls were slipping by her eyes, faster and faster, until they vanished abruptly into blue sky over waving green fields. The Padawan twisted in her seat as the ship banked over the city, giving her one last look at the tan buildings studded with azure domes, and the waterfalls tumbling in clouds of mist from the cliffs’ edge. Then she was rocked back into her seat as the ship blasted into the sky, scattering clouds like puffs of smoke in the breeze. The portholes were engulfed in a spray of orange flame, and they passed through the planet’s atmosphere. Xela could hear the youngling crying at the roar of the engines over the pressure building in her ears.

Just as Xela’s ears popped, the flames flickering across the shuttle’s hull extinguished to reveal the vast pool of star-studded space extending about them. Xela gasped and gripped her armrests as her chest tightened. She now realized what she had forgotten-- Frag it all, she had no way to contact any of them, not Zita, not Jesa, not even Ignae. In the rush of their secretive departure, none of them had thought to ask, and she had no idea when she might see any of them again. Stars, what if the hooded man found one of them? Or some other, horrible fate descended on them in the vacuum of space? She’d even held Zita’s holoscreen in her hand back at the hospital, but she’d blithely tossed away without a second thought.

No, no, she told herself. Pull it together. She imagined that her breaths collected her emotions with them as she breathed out, expelling all as the stars outside began to blur into shining, silver streaks, preparing them for the leap into hyperspace. No, this was not the end for them. Xela beat back her insecurity with resolve-- She couldn’t explain where it came from, only that she felt a deep, restive calm stealing through her as the sky glowed brighter outside. No. The Force would see them safely together again one day, it would. Or at the very least, it would see her track them down herself, if she had to.

This thought comforted Xela, and bore her to Coruscant as much as the shuttle did. Hurtling towards an unknown future, the Padawan closed her eyes and thought back to the trader, the traveller, and the Gray Jedi that she had known among the darkened streets of Theed, running through the night.

And when she opened her eyes to the sluicing rain and gritty lights of Coruscant, she felt all the better for it, knowing that she would never truly be alone again.


	17. Epilogue

The lights were still off in the room, and it was silent save for the faint tapping of fingers against the holoscreen resting on the table. A shivering breeze gusted in through the room’s sole window, and the antique shutters across it banged against the pane in an infinite knock that would never be answered. Although the day had been warm, dusk had brought a biting chill with it that hinted at the turning of the seasons; it seeped into every corner of the room and sharpened every corner and edge in the darkness.

However, the cold didn’t seem to bother the figure hunched over the table at the back of the room, ignoring the chair that was pressing into his midriff as he curled over the holoscreen. The yellow light of the streetlamps outside gleamed across his watery eyes and pockmarked skin as the shutters waved again in a strong breeze, scattering loose papers from the table to the floor into a fluttering heap. The only effect the cold seemed to have on him was the crackling, burbling sound his breath made with every exhale--it echoed raggedly whenever the wind blew, scraping deeper into his lungs. But still, he was single-minded, flicking through the holoscreen with thick fingers stained with grease, black powder, and an acrid scent that burned the nostrils. He tended not to notice it anymore, but dogs with their sharp noses could never stand to sit near him for long.

Suddenly the light playing across his face from the holoscreen came to a halt. His eyes slid across the screen, catching every once and awhile on a splinter of information. He gave a small nod as his lips mouthed silent words, and a hacking cough pushed jaggedly up his throat as he pulled a holocron from his pocket-studded vest. His blunt fingers were busy once more, the screen beneath them glowing green as a progress bar slowly filled. It flashed once to signal its completion, and he buttoned the device back inside his vest. Drawing out a small cloth, the figure wiped off the holoscreen with minute precision, taking his time. Once he was satisfied, he pocketed the cloth and the light from the screen grew dim again, barely glittering in the shadows of his eyes.

Straightening up, the figure drew away from the desk and wound around the table in the dark, his steps thudding heavily across the floor. He paused just before the door, listening intently for anything to disturb the quiet. Hearing nothing, he reached for the door.

“My apologies, mister,” he grumbled, his boot clipping a huddled form as he stepped over it. Then he was gone, the hydraulic hiss of the door heralding his departure. The shutters banged plaintively, and a yellow bar of light expanded and compressed with their erratic movement. At its zenith, it revealed a strained red sash stretching across an ample belly, it’s tails trailing from an unmoving mass of a body to splay across the floor. For a moment, all was still, as if the night was holding its breath, perched at a tipping point. Then the light faded once more into darkness, and the wind howled its plaintive cry through the streets of the city once more.


End file.
